Second Chances
by Anlynne
Summary: Second chances can be found in the most unlikely of places.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

The war was over. Voldemort was dead. No matter how many times Hermione rolled it over in her mind, she could scarcely believe it. After all, she had spent the past year on the run with Harry and Ron trying to learn of a way to defeat Voldemort. A part of her didn't believe that it would ever end.

Yet, she couldn't sleep. She lied awake in Ginny's room, troubled with the memories. Sometimes, she almost forgot to breathe. It had been funeral after funeral and the worst of them was Fred's. She felt like she had been deadened with the loss of tears she had shed at Tonk's and Lupin's funeral, but she had more. They wouldn't stop falling and she was sore, the misery beating up her insides.

She didn't speak at the funeral. No one did, really. She stayed close at Ron and Ginny's sides, but she found herself alone in the front garden, the chickens pecking the ground at her feet. Suddenly, she felt like an intruder. The Weasley's were like family, but hers were in Australia, unknowing that a daughter they didn't know they had was going to show up and change their lives.

They would be angry with her. How could they not be?

Harry had joined her outside. He didn't speak either, but stayed with her until the sun sunk low in the sky. Together, they had gone up the stairs, where he silently went into Ron's room, and she went into Ginny's.

Ginny remained fast asleep, undoubtedly from grief. Quietly, Hermione left her to her dreamless state and made her way down the creaky steps to the kitchen. It was hauntingly dark, but not vacant. Harry sat at the roughly carved table, staring at one chair in particular.

"Harry," she croaked sleepily. "Why aren't you in bed?"

"That's where Fred sat," he lament, nodding to a chair identical to all the others, but empty. It would always be empty.

"I miss him, too." She gripped his shoulder.

"It shouldn't have happened..."

Hermione didn't know what to say, so instead she asked, "do you want tea?" She didn't wait for his answer but busied herself making a pot. She set the burner on as she filled the teapot with water from the tap.

It was simpler to use magic but she did it the muggle way. It was slow but comforting. Periodically, she glanced over at Harry. He appeared to have aged years, dark circles under his dark green eyes, but a good night's sleep would help him. However, he refused to accept any potion handed to him; Mrs. Weasley frequently tried. George wasn't so proud as he was knocked out on the couch, refusing to go into the room he used to share with Fred.

It was a stupid sign of strength Harry was attempting to exhibit. He was only eighteen and had gone through too much.

She poured two cups, the heat of the chamomile quickly relaxing her. She handed one to him and sat across from him.

"I got an Owl from Kingsley," he told her, "he wants me to review some cases."

"What kind of cases?"

"The Malfoy case for one. Whether they should be sentenced or not."

"Oh..." She paused.

"They need to pay for what they've done. But I keep thinking of that night at the Malfoy Manor. Malfoy didn't give us up. He could've... I don't know why he didn't..."

"I don't know, but Harry, when Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy didn't fight in the last battle. They were off trying to find Draco. Maybe all of this is to preserve their family. I saw them when..."

"When Voldemort died?"

She nodded, and although she didn't say it aloud she remembered it was the same look she had when she altered her parents memories. She often dreamt about it, standing in their living room, casting that spell. Every time, the building would collapse and she would be standing over Fred's body.

Every night, the same nightmare.

"I don't know what to do," Harry whispered, tapping his forefinger against the cup.

"Give them a second chance."

His brows shot up underneath the mess of his black hair. "Are you serious? We wouldn't have considered that when we were eleven."

"We're not eleven anymore. Please, Harry..."

"They tortured you."

"Bellatrix did that and she's dead."

"But they didn't stop her -"

"Harry," she exhaled, grabbing his arm. "It's over. It's a scar now. Leave it be. For me."

Harry abandoned his tea and hugged her tightly. "If you can forgive them for what they've done to you, I'll pardon them. Just tell me why."

She inhaled the scent of him (woodsy with a mix of the Weasley's fabric softener), before pulling out of his arms. "I'm so tired of families being torn apart. I'm exhausted." The sting of tears threatened her vision as she thought of her own parents.

"Their hearing is in two days. Come with me? Just in case they need you to testify."

She straightened the collar of his wrinkled shirt. "Anything for you, Harry."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Hermione didn't want to tell the others where she was going the next day, although that was unavoidable. After all they had been through Mrs. Weasely was not up to letting anyone going anyplace alone, most especially it seemed to be the infamous trio. Ron guessed that it had to do with all the trouble they had gotten into the past seven years. That was only partly true, Hermione knew since Mrs. Weasley lost Ron for a year, she lost Fred for good. And all three of them could very well have targets on their backs from an escaped and deranged Death Eater.

So, Hermione was joined on her destination by George. Mrs. Weasley had volunteered him as she thought it would keep her safe and George distracted.

"Is this it," George asked staring up at the two story white house. It was what came to mind every time Hermione thought of home.

"Yes," she sighed, her heart plummeting to her feet at the sight of the boarded front door, every window shattered. The flowers that used to line the walkway and the sides of the house were gone, just patches of dirt.

They walked up together, pulling the boards down, throwing them into the dead bushes. Hermione reached for the knob, but her hand fell away.

"We could come back tomorrow," George offered gently.

"I have to do this."

She tried the knob. It was unlocked. She pushed it open and walked into the darkness. The glass crunched under her feet. When her eyes adjusted she saw the couch tipped over, the fireplace missing bricks from a type of explosion.

"Oh..."

"If your parents moved to Australia, why didn't they sell this house?"

"I created a thought that they could use this as a vacation home of sorts when they retire... I thought that if I came back for them, they'd want to return to it..."

"If?"

"I was sure that I'd die when I left to go with Harry."

George picked up a broken frame. Inside was her parents hugging in front of the Eiffel Tower. "You look just like your mom."

Hermione wasn't listening. She was lost in a thousand memories that surrounded her. She remembered that right there in that room she spoke with Dumbledore. He told her that she was a witch and there was a place for her.

She visited each room of the house, each one as trashed as the one before it. The kitchen looked as though it had suffered an explosion and the bathroom appeared as if it was in the middle of being remodled, and she could barely look at her parents bedroom. The furniture was toppled and the curtains were slashed.

She stepped into her own room last. Her desk where she last sat to write to Ron was missing a couple of its legs, the canopy of her bed was in ribbons. Books cluttered the floor, leaving her bookcase empty. She picked up the one nearest to her foot, opening it to a random page, inhaling the scent of paper and ink. It was a storybook her mother had read to her as a child. She had wanted despertly to bring it with her, but only the most useful of things she had to bring with her. After all, Ron had scolded her for as many books she brought.

She sat on the edge of her bed, clutching that dear book to her chest. George walked in and began picking up the others, turning them over in his hand.

"They're all story books," he noted.

"I took the informative ones with me."

"We can take these with us."

She shook herself out of her revere. "Leave them. We're here to clean up for my parents. Hopefully I'll be back here with them."

"You're going to move out," he asked with a touch of surprise.

"Did you think I'd stay at the Burrow for good?"

George placed the stack of books on the shelf. "I guess not, huh?" He laughed at himself. It was shallow but it sounded like music to her ears. There was little laughter to be found at the Burrow. In fact, she had never heard that crooked house so quiet.

"George," she said, adding the book in her hand to the stack. "What's wrong?"

"I'll have to leave, too. I can't avoid the joke shop forever."

"The world needs jokes now." She waved her wand, the books lifting and setting themselves in the right order on the shelf.

"Alphabetical order. Always a perfectionist, Hermione."

"Time to get started," she said, "I'll take the kitchen if you take the lounge," she offered. He agreed with a short nod.

They worked into the night. The only mess left was the empty pizza box on the table. What they did in hours would have taken years to do without magic. Even her parents, who often lectured her to not become dependent on magic would've approved of the results.

George rested a hand on his full stomach, "that was good. Thanks for calling that in. I need to learn how to use those blasted phones."

"You're welcome."

He peered at her oddly. "I heard Harry's going to pardon the Malfoys." There was a tug at the corner of his mouth. "Ron nearly had a heart attack."

"Oh, well, I think Harry is doing the right thing."

"I'm sure you do." He winked conspiratorially.

She laughed, "what are you implying, George?"

"The living room is right next to the kitchen, you know. I heard you and Harry last night. You talked him into doing this."

"You shouldn't be listening in on other conversations," she told him with a slight smile.

"What else would I do with my time? Mum said to keep myself busy."

Hermione's smile slipped suddenly at the reminder of Fred. She forgot.

"It was a joke," he amended quickly. "Hermione, I didn't mean -"

"I know," she said, kicking herself for being taken off guard. If George was trying she had to as well.

"Look, in all seriousness, are you sure that you want this? The guy was a major git. Most would throw his ass in Azkaban without a second's thought."

"But everyone should get a second chance."

"If you're sure..."

"I am."

"We're just looking out for you, Hermione."

"I do appreciate that but I need to move forward."

Hermione raised to her feet, taking the box outside to the bin. She didn't dare say it aloud - not to George, but she thought that they all needed to move forward.

She had a future she couldn't have imagined having when she was searching for horcruxes. Now that it was all over, she intended to use it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The Ministry was packed with more people than Hermione had ever witnessed and though her and Harry tried to sneak in, it was impossible. As soon as they stepped through the fireplace they heard an echoing commotion from the far end of the marble room. It drowned out the bursts of green fire from the many hearths and the footsteps on the granite floor.

Upon seeing them, Kingsley approached, standing out in his bright colored blue robe. "Come with me, quickly. I have Aurors keeping the press back."

"Are they here for the Malfoy's, sir," Hermione asked, not daring to look toward the flashing bulbs.

"And for Harry," he said good-naturedly, despite the circles under his dark eyes. "He's reached his ultimate status. We don't have long. They won't get past the lift, I secured it myself."

Harry was more equipped to dealing with the attention than she was (even though she could tell from the tick in his jaw that he continued to find it irksome). She focused on moving forward, of reaching the quiet of the corridors beneath them. She remembered them being hauntingly chilly, but she longed for them then. She could hear her surname be called out, the stares people gave her.

How Harry dealt with, she didn't know, but she was immensely grateful for him. He shielded her, pulling her close to him to keep her privacy.

Kingsley ushered them into the golden lifts alone, it starting its descent the moment the doors closed. It meant a lot that the Minister of Magic came to escort them. It was a high-profile case, Harry speaking at a hearing to one of the most hated families in the Wizarding World.

"Have you changed your mind," she questioned him.

"It was your decision, Hermione."

"It was my opinion," she corrected.

The doors opened to a long hallway. Torches lit the black gloss floors, casting quite the odd ambiance. It was almost like being wrapped in a multitude of small suns, but it cold. A freezing sun.

She squeezed his arm comfortingly. "I'll wait for you outside."

"You're welcome in," he said.

"I'm not a witness or a judge. Only you were asked. Go on," she urged.

He was uncertain, but he went through, and she waited in the corridor of a thousand suns. For thirty minutes, she waited and in that time she hadn't seen a single soul. Kingsley had done an impressive job of not just keeping the press out, but the rest of the population of the Ministry.

Lucky for her, she brought a book everywhere she went. She sat on the cold floor, wrapping her cloak tightly around her as she read. The thirty minutes disappeared and Harry's hand reached out for hers.

"What was the decision," she asked, replacing her book in her purse before letting him to help her to her feet.

"Draco Malfoy was pardoned." There was a sort of pride in his voice. "Only narrowly, mind you. By two votes. I don't think my presence helped."

"I'm sure it made all the difference."

"One juror asked if I had been cursed."

She sighed, "curses don't operate that way, if you were cursed -"

"The point is," he said, smiling at her, "is that he's free. I put in a good word for his parents but there's a lot against them. There's nothing else I can do."

"Shouldn't you stay until they're done deliberating?"

"I was excused."

She bit the inside of her cheek, "that isn't a good sign. You did all you could. At least he can start over." She looped her arm through his as they made their way back to the lift. "It was a good thing you did, Harry. I'm proud of you."

"I wouldn't have done it without you. The way you find forgiveness in people, Hermione... I'm not sure I can."

"You forgave Snape."

"He loved my mother and protected me."

Wearily, Hermione rested her head on Harry's arm, longing for the Burrow. Soon, they could all start over. The remnants of the war hung thickly in the air and everyone was searching for relief. Once the trials were done, her parents were back, and she gave the Weasley's space, they could start to heal. Only then could she consider the war truly over.

They almost made it to the lifts when they heard the hurried smacking of footsteps. They turned and saw Malfoy running toward them, brighter than the torches that lined the walls. His hair was no longer slicked back but hanging by his brow, his face flushed, tinged with sickness. Even so, Hermione had never seen him look so... Real.

"Granger!" His eyes were wide in surprise when he spotted her. His gaze shot between the both of them, before settling on Harry, who he was obviously looking for. Choked for words, he spat out, "thank you," and in obvious effort he held out his hand between them.

Hermione remembered a similar moment when they were eleven. Malfoy offered his friendship to Harry only for Harry to turn it down. This time, Harry took Malfoy's hand.

"It... It was the right thing to do," Harry told him.

Malfoy couldn't have let go of his hand any quicker than if it had been on fire. He then stared at Hermione, as if wanting an explanation. When none came, he coldly said, "nice of you to be here, Granger."

"Actually, Malfoy, it was Hermione who asked for your pardon. Not me."

It appeared that Malfoy had stopped breathing. If it was possible, his skin had turned a paler shade. "You did?"

She lifted her chin, "it's a second chance. Make the most of it, will you?"

All that could be heard was the crackling of fire. "May I speak to you alone?"

Hermione froze, fear gripping her gut. She swallowed, knowing that she would be a hypocrite if she refused him, but it was such odd behavior that she was doubting if she was awake. If only her dreams could conjure up such sweetness, she wouldn't have believed it. She looked up at her friend. "I'll see you at the Burrow, Harry."

He eyed Malfoy suspiciously, but did as Hermione wished. When the lift whirred upwards, Malfoy faced her evenly, the most curious glint in his light eyes.

"Why did you do it?"

"Because I believe in second chances and I think that we all lost too much in this war already."

"I don't deserve it."

She was so taken aback that she felt she lost her balance. Some part of her fell through the floor. "What changed, Malfoy?"

"I did when I joined... Him. I stop believing in what I was doing. When I saw... When I saw you at my house... What my..." He inhaled sharply. "In the end, I was trying to save my family. Today I almost went to Azkaban for a person I don't want to be anymore. But I would've deserved it, because I did it. I did a lot of things I regret now and I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Granger. For everything."

Draco Malfoy was apologizing. Flabbergasted, she had to remind herself to close her gaping mouth. "That is... Thank you, Malfoy."

"You spared me and I owe you."

"As long as you're never seen in these chambers again, consider yourself paid in full," she smiled - or at least she tried to. It felt strained. She was alone with Malfoy for the first time and he implied repentance. In fact, he seemed sad, relieved, scared, all at the same time. "Everyone deserves a second chance," she reiterated softly.

"Not me. After how I've treated you..."

"Mistakes -"

"None of them were mistakes and you're far too clever to believe that they were. Let me make it up to you."

Hermione sunk her teeth hard on the spot of cheek that she had been biting earlier. It hurt, so Malfoy had to have just called her clever. It had to be a trick. No... Malfoy had never done this. He was incapable of being someone he wasn't. He was a git because he actually was a git and he was kind because he admired someone. It was as simple as that. Even when he wanted something, he came out with it.

So what was this?

"What were you thinking," she asked.

"There's no way I can ever repay you, but let me start with dinner."

She raised her brows. "Like a date?"

He smirked and unlike the one he had in his childhood, it was kind. "That's a scandal if ever I've heard of one. Let's call it dinner."

Intrigued, she found herself uttering, "dinner it is then." She held the strap of her purse while she asked after his parents.

"Yes, well, even the hero Potter can't excuse them for past crimes. I thought that I'd come out to thank Harry in person before returning. I didn't know I'd be thanking you."

"This day is full of surprises..."

"I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Yes, you may pick me up from the Burrow."

He blinked. "The Weasley's?"

"They'll behave," she assured.

Malfoy's frown creased further. "I meant - your parents? Are they?"

"Oh. They're safe. I'm staying with the Weasley's until I can go to them."

If she didn't know any better, he looked relieved. Then again, she apparently didn't know him at all. Not this him. "I'm glad to hear that."

"Why?"

"Guilt. I was a Death Eater, Granger."

 _Was._ That was good to hear. "Be there at five-thirty." She walked to the lift, watching his astounded expression until the bars conflicted her view.

Hermione always believed in second chances, but for the first time, she was witnessing it. It was just the breath of fresh air that she needed. She was actually smiling.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Malfoy! You've got to be joking! Hermione, he's a monster."

Hermione turned away from the mirror, the brush tight in her grip. "Are you going to help or not?"

Ginny threw her hands down on the bed where she sat. "You're acting like this is normal: Going on dates with Malfoys. What are you going to tell Harry and Ron? They'll go mad!"

"It's my choice. Again, are you going to help?"

She glared ruthlessly at the wet towel around Hermione, her drenched hair flat against her cheeks. "I guess you can't go looking like that." She shoved herself to her feet and began a search through her closet.

Hermione ran the brush through her mane. Quite honestly, she didn't have time to question her own sanity. Anyway, Ginny was doing that wonderfully for her. She couldn't help herself, but she found this new Malfoy intriguing, and a part of her wanted to see if she was wrong to give him a second chance. To know if there was any such thing as redemption.

Ginny pulled out articles of clothing, dropping them onto the bed. She mixed and matched blouses with skirts. They were all skirts.

"Why can't I wear my pinstripe -"

"You will not," she said aghast. "This is Draco Malfoy. He'll likely take you someplace... Nice. You have to look the part - not that I'm at all hoping he finds you attractive, but you can't go looking like a stray."

"This is nice of you, Ginny."

"Truthfully, I am hoping to hear about the date."

"It's not really a date!"

Ginny waved her argument away. "This will go nicely..."

An hour later (forty-five minutes were spent with Ginny cursing over her hair), and Hermione was standing in front of the mirror wearing a cerulean blue dress, silver heels and her hair pinned up with a number of pins. She knew there would be no way to pass the boys without an interrogation.

She held her breath as she descended the last of the steps. Harry and Ron were on opposite sides of the coffee table playing a game of chess. It looked like Harry had a chance of beating him. She hoped that it would distract Ron long enough for her to get out, but she was mistaken.

Ron looked up instantly, his jaw dropping. "What in the hell happened to you?"

Harry followed suit with a sharp intake of air. "Wow..."

"Don't," she warned both of them.

Ginny came bounding down the stairs, reclining next to her brother. Without much thought she pushed a knight forward on the board.

Ron didn't pay any mind. "Where are you going?"

"I have an appointment."

"With who?"

"It's none of your business," she answered.

"It doesn't look like something you wear to a business meeting."

There was a knock at the door and Hermione paused. "Um..." Her bravery left her and she pleaded silently with Ginny.

"Come on," Ginny sighed, motioning for the boys to leave with her.

"No," Ron spat. "I wanna see."

Hermione lifted her chin confidently. She wouldn't care what they thought of her. She opened the door.

Malfoy's lips parted in surprise, but she must have appeared the same. He was dressed in a muggle suit.

"You look... Beautiful." He blinked twice.

She could hardly speak, so she made her way out, but not before she caught the faces of her friends. Ron was red - literally, even his ears, and Harry appeared to be in a state of shock. She shut the door on them.

"Ready?" He offered her his arm.

"Where do you have in mind?"

"I guess you'll have to see."

She took his arm and the world whirled into color, snapping out and in again, to a place much darker. She gasped.

They were in a park. In the distance she could see a swing-set, but in front of them was a round table was covered with a black and burgundy cloth, completed with dishes of salmon and asparagus. Soft music emitted around them, with no foreseeable cause. It was a beautiful kind of magic.

"Where are we," she asked.

Malfoy pulled out a chair. "Somewhere nearby."

She accepted the seat. "This is lovely, Malfoy. I honestly didn't expect this."

He took the seat across from her, lifting the bottle of red wine from the bucket of ice to pour the waiting glasses. It was startlingly muggle. "It's the least I could do."

"You're not going to use magic," she asked.

"Would that impress you?"

"Why would Draco Malfoy seek to impress me?"

He did not answer.

"What was your parents verdict? I'm afraid I haven't heard."

"My father gave them names of Death Eaters who ran. For that, he'll be set free."

"That's great!"

"That doesn't mean he's changed," he said in warning. "I became a Death Eater because I thought I was doing something noble. I was following in my father's footsteps. But... I knew I wasn't supposed to succeed in killing Dumbledore. I was meant to fail so that the Dark Lord could kill my family. I wasn't doing anything noble. From then on, I was doing it all so my family could live."

"I'm sorry -"

"Don't. Don't be. I realized I didn't want to become my father. Everything in my life feels like a sort of lie. All because there are muggles. If it was all a lie, then you are the brightest witch. And you saved my life when I didn't deserve it. I'm indebted to you."

"You have more than made up for it."

"Not nearly." He waved his hand dismissively. "No more talk about the past."

That was that. They spoke of everything but Death Eaters and the war. They spoke of her parents, of childhood memories, of their favorite days and opinions. The dinner was long, jokes and laughter between bites and food. Hermione may have had an extra glass of wine, and she felt light and happy. Pink coated Malfoy cheeks.

The air cooled and dusk stained the sky pink, and Malfoy helped her into his jacket. She wasn't quite ready for the night to be over. She spotted the swing-set once more, and grabbed his hand. "Ever touched the sky, Malfoy?"

"On a broom..."

"This is much better!"

She kicked off her heels, taking his hand and pulling him behind her. She slid onto the seat, holding the freezing chains. "Like this," she instructed, and pushed her stocking clad feet against the hard ground.

Malfoy watched in amazement as Hermione kicked her legs into the air. He attempted to do as she had done, but he slipped and he spun.

Hermione skidded to a stop, jumping off the seat. "You're doing it all wrong," she chided. Standing behind him, she asked, "ready?"

"For what?"

"Hold on," she told him, pushing his back hard. He lunged forward and so did the seat. She pushed him higher and higher. He belted out a nervous laugh.

"Alright! Alright!"

As he came down she caught the chains, steadying it to a stop. She spun in front of him. "How was it?"

His gray eyes were bright, his lips cracked with a wide smile. "It was fun! Who knew Granger could be fun!"

She should've been offended, but the wine was preventing that. She held his shoulders, leaning close to him. "I'm a lot of fun, Malfoy!"

"On a swing, maybe," he argued and he grabbed her waist, tugging her on to his lap. A brown tendril of hair came loose from its pin. He tucked it behind her ear.

Hermione's cheeks burned like fire. "Where was this Malfoy years ago?"

"He was busy being a dick. Where was this Hermione?"

"Do you know why I studied so hard in Hogwarts?"

"Because you're a show-off?"

"Because I had to know what kind of world I was getting into. I had to prove myself against people who had been in that world all their lives."

"You don't have to prove anything now."

"Exactly. I'm going to be a lawyer and I'm going to continue to fight for equality of all creatures. But I never have to prove myself again."

"You're extraordinary, Hermione."

The pink sky darkened into purple and the sun dipped lower in the horizon. Hermione wasn't ready for the date to be over, and it was at a point where a choice must be made. You either called it a day or you pushed the boundaries a little further.

Maybe it was the wine, but he was handsome in a way Malfoy never had been before. He wasn't crude or cruel, his hair wasn't slicked back, and his eyes were soft. He was kind, gentle, genuine and real.

It was funny, how war changed people, how it took the laughter out of George and the smile from Molly, but it incited life in Hermione, a desire to live life the way Fred did. Maybe not to his extent of rule-breaking, but to go right after what she wanted, to simply be happy and she found herself very happy with Malfoy there on the swings.

She had never enjoyed the company of someone so much, and maybe it was the night, the wine, and Malfoy's kindness that caused her to move nearer, closing the space between their lips. It was meant to be a quick, but she found herself glued to them, the musky scent of his cologne filling her.

His fingers wrapped themselves in her hair as hers clutched his neck and the collar of his shirt bringing him closer. There was an indescribable feeling in it, a pull toward him, a comfort but not a deja vu, a sense of _rightness_.

Suddenly, she was falling. Literally. Malfoy moved his feet and the swing tipped causing her to tumble off his lap onto the ground. Lucky for her it was soft from last night's rain.

Malfoy fell on his knees beside her. "Hermione! Are you okay?"

She gasped for air, laughing so hard that her ribs ached. She saw him through a sheen of happy tears.

"Are you laughing?"

She nodded and Draco chuckled, helping her up by the elbow. "Some first kiss, eh?" When her laughter subsided, he bent down, against her lips, said, "maybe this one will be better," and brushed them once more.

Just like the first, she was caught up and pressed against him, wanting more. She let the tips of her fingers grace the ends of his hair, and down his neck. He shivered and she smiled.

Slowly, Draco edged away, but didn't let her go. He straightened just enough to study her eyes, his nose brushing against hers.

Hermione had always believed in redemption, but she saw it come to life that night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Hermione's heels dangled from her fingertips as she padded through the empty house. Luckily everyone was asleep) that might have qualified to be a miracle in the Weasley house). Although, no one slept anymore, not after the war. It was four in the morning; soon the sun would rise and Mrs. Weasley would begin cooking enough breakfast to serve all of London.

After Hermione's kiss with Malfoy they had decided to go for coffee. She taught him how to hail a cab, and they spent an hour mulling over steaming mugs. They were tired, but kept on, not wanting to leave each other.

Of course, she had dates and there had been Krum (somewhat, if long-distance counted at all), but nothing had ever been like that night with Malfoy. There was a change in him, and he was right, there was a change in her, too. Suddenly, there was a connection that hadn't been there before.

She passed through the living room. A sharp pain cascaded up her foot. She stifled a scream, her palm clamped firmly over her mouth. She searched for culprit of the pain and saw a pawn. She would have to talk to the boys about leaving their chess pieces about.

She went on, favoring her foot, making it all the more difficult to go up the stairs, pausing at every creak it made. At the landing she raced for Ginny's room, holding the knob of the door so it wouldn't click closed. When it did close, however, the light at her beside suddenly burst to life.

Ginny sat on her bed, arms crossed. "You're coming back late."

Hermione tried to think quickly, but Ginny held up her hand to stop her. "Don't even bother. Just sit and tell me all about it."

She didn't sit, her brain was still whirling with thoughts of Malfoy, the tingle he left on her cheeks and if the boys were really asleep. "I kissed Malfoy," she blurted out.

Ginny groaned a little too loudly and threw herself back on her pillows. Despite that reaction, she didn't seem all-too shocked, it was more disappointment. "What were you thinking," she hissed.

"That he's a bit wonderful?"

She bolted up. "He's _a bit_ of a git! Don't tell me that you - that you - like him?!"

"Ginny, he's - he's changed... I can't explain it, but Malfoy has changed."

"People like him don't change."

Hermione finally collapsed on her bed. "Everyone can change."

"Most don't."

"You'll have to trust me on this, Gin."

"It's not you that I don't trust. And I bet you Harry and Ron will say the same thing!"

"They do sleep in..."

It took a moment for that statement to sink in. "Are you going out with him again?"

"For breakfast. Tell everyone that I've taken an early flight out. It won't be a lie, I'll be going after my date with Malfoy."

Ginny closed her eyes and took five deep and purposeful breaths. "Fine. You're being very unreasonable right now."

"Thanks."

"You're glowing, by the way." She huffed and threw her blanket around her. "I hope you know what you're doing."

She did, too.

* * *

Hermione woke before the sun rose, the house dark and quiet, Ginny lying still in bed. Hermione crept about the room getting dressed in her most comfortable jeans and t-shirt, favoring her worn trainers. Then, she left. Just as last night, the living room was empty. Who needed Flexis Felicis when one was as lucky as her?

She threw in a handful of Floo Power, causing emerald flames to shoot up. They licked her skin harmlessly and she bowed in, calling out the name Malfoy gave her last night.

She hated going by the Floo Network, she always became nauseated afterward. Carefully, she stepped out, finding a pale hand that was waiting to steady her, and a whiff of Malfoy's intoxicating cologne and the scent of charred food.

"How was your trip," Malfoy asked, kissing her soot-brushed cheek.

"Better," she replied, speaking more of the kiss than the trip.

"I thought we would have breakfast here. I don't think any place is open."

She smiled, biting her tongue against saying that she wasn't there for the meal but to see him. It would be the last time for a week or two and for some reason that idea saddened her. She didn't know quite where her parents were, for all she knew they would be on vacation and she would have to wait another week to come home. Not that she minded! More than anything she wanted her parents back. It had been so long since she saw them...

Hermione dragged herself to the present. "I don't mind, your place is..." She trailed off as she appeared to be in a flat. A rather small one. In fact, there was only one door and she assumed that it was the bathroom. The room she was in was bare except for a minute fridge, a stove, a cot and a box of neatly stacked clothes. On the floor was a rather soft blanket and two plates of eggs, sausages, and toast, all of it rather burnt.

It was an odd sight to behold. The expensive clothes in poor surroundings _-_ _Malfoy_ in poor housing. She felt almost sorry for him, but she didn't need to ask to know exactly what was going on. He was atoning for his mistakes. It would be the only reason that he wasn't ashamed to bring her. That thought warmed her.

"I'm sorry, it's not a lot. I don't have much here yet."

"What about the house-elves?"

He gave her a dark expression. "I set them free. Of course not until I asked that they teach me to cook. These eggs are done, right?"

She lied for his sake (or ego). "They're good. Um, have you heard about your parents yet?"

"I received an owl. They were pardoned, but no doubt because of Potter." He was clearly uncomfortable, "I'll have to thank him for that." Before she could respond, he changed the subject, "where are you going that we couldn't have had breakfast at a decent hour?"

"I'm going to Australia to bring back my parents. I should only be gone a week."

A light blush coated his cheeks in embarrassment as he took his place beside her, reaching for the other plate. Although his voice was steady it was tense, "who is going with you? Potter?"

"I'm making the trip myself."

"By yourself? You shouldn't be doing that on your own."

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. He sounded an awful lot like Mrs. Weasley just then, but he'd be cross if she pointed it out. "I'll be okay. I was on the run for a year, I think I can handle a trip to Australia."

Malfoy took one bite of his eggs, before grabbing a spare napkin and spitting it out. "You lied to me," he said, surprised.

"I didn't want to hurt your feelings..."

"Tasting this was worse."

She swallowed her giggle and finished her toast. The taste of it would last her for the rest of the day, she was sure. She would have to brush her teeth again. "I must go or I'll be late."

"I'm going with you."

"On a plane?"

"What's a plane?"

She shook her head, "Malfoy, as much as I would enjoy seeing you try to make your way through an airport, this isn't necessary. I can do this on my own."

"Of course, but you shouldn't have to." He stood and with a wave of his wand, the blanket and the dishes (with the untouched eggs) disappeared. He flicked his wand once more and Hermione saw a suitcase slid itself from under a small cot, unlatching and accepting the folded clothes from a box in the corner.

She raised a quizzical brow, "you're ready to meet my parents?"

"You've had the unfortunate displeasure to meet mine," he stated fairly.

"Malfoy, if this is your way of making up for your past -"

He waved his hand and knelt in front of her, touching her cheek, "I enjoy your company and honestly, Granger, I don't fancy the idea of going a week without seeing you. And I meant what I said, you shouldn't be doing this alone."

"I was afraid that, perhaps, being around me brought back bad memories."

"My bad memories are my own. I can't imagine the day I'll forgive myself for hurting you, but... I didn't have much of a choice at the time. I need to start over and I think I'd like to do that with you."

"You're a good friend, Malfoy."

"Only a friend?"

She shook her head, unable to verbally cement whatever they were right then. Instead, she brought him down to her lips.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

The airport was bustling with people and the noises the suitcase wheels made on the scuffed floor. Hermione checked her ticket and the overhead board.

Malfoy's head swiveled to take in everything at once. There were obviously hundreds of questions he had to have, but he didn't utter one. Not even when they approached security.

"Take off your shoes," she whispered to him.

"Are you making a joke, Granger?"

"I'm being serious," she pointed to the people in front of them who were indeed taking off their shoes and placing them into big black bins.

"That is barbaric," she heard him mutter.

She chuckled to herself as she led him the rest of the way through the security, much to his disesteem. All the way to their gate she tried to hide her amusement behind her hair.

When they approached the rows of seats in front of the large glass window, Malfoy spun toward her. "What is that thing?"

"It's a plane." She urged him to sit down, "we board it and it takes us in the air to our destination."

"That's not a suitable way of traveling!"  
"It's no more dangerous than Floo Powder or Portkeys, actually, I recently read in Cardiff -"

"I don't think that's true."

"It was in the Daily Prophet. Anyway, you ride a broom."

"Not with dozens of other people." He eyed her in a judging manner, but before she could be offended, their gate was called over the intercom. She led him the rest of the way, whispering instructions in his ear. When the plane began humming, and it slowly inched foward, she offered him mint gum.

"What is that."

"Put this in your mouth and chew. It'll help with your ears."

"My ears?"

"They'll pop."

"Off?!"

Hermione looked around to be sure that no one was paying any mind to them, but quite a few were already leaned back, engaged in conversation, or had earbuds stuck in their ears. "No," she chuckled, "trust me, Malfoy, chew on it."

He hesitated, but took the stick and put it in his mouth. She watched his expression change from disbelief into pleasure. "It's rather good," he muffled, moving the gum around his mouth.

The strewdress took her place at the front of the aisle, giving instructions for the worst-case scenerios. Hermione was quick to inform Malfoy that the chances were low, but he harshly whispered in her ear, "you didn't say that this could kill us!"

"Oh Malfoy, you are statistically more likely to die on a train than on a plane."

"Not on the Hogwarts Express."

"Which is a muggle transportation system, not at all unlike this."

"Except in this you can fall out of the air."

"Like flying," she hushed.

Their bickering had attracted the attention of the people around them. Their curious albeit rude stares quited Hermione and Draco for the time being.

Malfoy watched as the plane moved forward and jutted upward into the clouds. His hands were fists on the armrests. She placed her hand over his, squeezing gently. "Nothing bad will happen," she promised, but he didn't respond, as they flew higher and the plane was well above the clouds, his grip loosened, his fascination taking over. They were higher than the finest broomstick could travel.

"It looks like a dream," he said quietly.

The clouds were strewn through the blue sky like cotton-balls. "I remember the first time I flew with my parents. We were going to France on holiday. I thought nothing could be more magical."

Malfoy smiled, "I have to agree." He lookeed sideways at her, "but if we die, I'm holding you personally responsible."

The flight would take nearly a full day but Hermione came prepared. In her purse she carried two books (only because her purse couldn't carry anymore) and a deck of cards. She taught Malfoy how to play poker and when she effectively lost four times, she insisted that they have a moment of silence.

Soon, they were engrossed in the seperate worlds she always carried with her until dinner rolled down the isles on a clanky tray. When she was full and warm, Hermione's eyes grew heavy and she pushed her seat back. Malfoy had done the same, lifting the armrest and tugging her closer to him. She didn't think about it, she curled herself under his arm, her head resting on his chest. His heartbeat, a little fast at first, slowed to a steady and comforting tempo beneath her ear.

Hermione listened, thinking back to a couple of nights ago. It had started with dinner. Now she was on a plane with Draco Malfoy. She gazed up at him, seeing the light stubble on his cheek. For a brief moment, she questioned what she was thinking. Her heart had been broken by the war and letting Malfoy close to her was a danger. Yet, there was a thrill of happiness that encompassed her when she was around him.

Everyone around her was mourning and so was she. They were cacooned in sadness. She knew it was the same for Malfoy, but he carried the weight of guilt more heavily than she. Yet, when they were together they forgot about their past.

When had Malfoy become her personal sunshine?


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

When they finally arrived at a hotel in Brisbane, they were tired and sore. Draco felt worse than when he had fallen off his broom the first time. Even so, he kindly carried their bags to the second floor where their rooms were side by side.

In the lift, she handed him a slim card. He saw muggles fiddling with such things, but he never dared asked what they were. He flipped it back, spotting a strip of black.

"What is this," he asked.

"It's your key."

"This isn't a key."

The doors opened and she lead them to their rooms. She took back the card and showed him which way to slide it down the slot. The door beeped, a red light suddenly blinking green. There was that smile, the same she used to give to Longbottom when she helped him in Potions.

He took the card back, flushed with embarrassment. "What time did you want to leave?"

"It was a long flight, let's sleep in tomorrow." She inhaled deeply, "I still have to find them."

"You will."

She nodded, and it occurred to him that perhaps that wasn't her worry. He didn't know how to comfort her - or anyone for that matter so he leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "Sweet dreams, Granger."

More than anything, he wanted to ask her to join him, but it was her decision to sleep in separate rooms. He hadn't thought of being apart from her, but he couldn't blame her. They were on their second date when he made her take him along. He had to remind himself that no matter how it felt then, they weren't always friends. They weren't the way they were now. No, if he had any regrets that was it. He should have been kinder to her; if anyone deserved it, it was her.

For the rest of his existence, he would make it up to her. Every discretion and every cruel thought. He promised himself that he would increase her happiness tenfold, because she was the most amazing witch he had ever met. She didn't know, but Draco felt it: He was falling in love with her.

* * *

Hermione let the door shut softly behind her as she set down her suitcase. In a haze she took a hot shower and collapsed on the bed, her thick hair soaking the pillow.

Across the room, in the depth of a pocket in the bathroom she heard the muffled ringtone of her mobile. She reached to the nightstand, grabbing her wand.

"Accio mobile," she mumbled, setting her wand down, the small silver mobile flying into her outstretched hand. She flipped it open, "hello?"

"Mrs. Weasley is fretting. Did you make it to Brisbane alright?"

"Hi, Harry. I'm okay, I'm in the hotel."

"She's angry that you went alone. I should have gone with you."

"I can take care of myself."

"I know that, but you know how she feels."

"I didn't go alone," she confessed, "Malfoy's with me."

Harry went quiet, then, "Malfoy? You had one date and now you're in Australia with him?"

"It's been a long day, Harry, must we do this?"

"Um, I guess not... I'll see you when you get home."

"Oh, Harry, do me a favor?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't tell Ron that he's with me."

"I promise. Good night."

"Good night."

Hermione fell asleep with the phone in her hand. It felt like only minutes that she had dozed off when a knock at the door sounded. She sat up, stretching toward the ceiling quickly observing herself in the mirror. Sweat clung her nightgown to her chest and it clumped her thick hair. She reached over to turn on the A.C. and hurried herself to the door, peeping through the circular window.

She saw a distorted Malfoy and her heart stopped in her chest. "Malfoy, what time is it?"

"Seven," he answered, muffled through the door.

"Come back in an hour. I'm not decent."

"You're always decent, Granger."

"Malfoy!"

He groaned, rolling his eyes upward. "Fine. An hour."

When she saw that he was gone, she showered and dressed in the blue frock Ginny said went well with her complexion, and she pulled her hair back as it was a constant stress for her mother when it hung in her face. In front of the mirror she gave herself a once-over. She didn't see a difference in herself, but she certainly knew that when her parents remembered her, they would see it. Every summer she came home, they would gush over how she was growing.

She left for the lobby, using an old yellow computer. She opened the browser and typed in her parents names, double clicking the site for their practice. She was in luck, they were closed today, and just maybe they would be at home.

Hermione had thoughts of going to her parents alone. That would be the proper thing to do, but she realized how much she wanted someone to be with her. She didn't think she could go there alone. It had been too long since she'd seen them. What if they were angry with her?

She went to Malfoy's room, and the door swung open almost immediately, but Malfoy stood stock still in its entrance. "Wow," was all he said.

She pulled him toward her. "My parents are probably home right now. Let's go."

Eyes still hazed, Malfoy followed her out, but she could feel the heat of his gaze on her backside. She couldn't help but smile a little at that.

They took a cab to the address and they were let out in front of a cute two-story house, lined by a bed of greenery. It was only the thriving plants that aided her in seeing it as the place that held her parents. Her father was a gardener and she recognized a few of his favorites that could survive in such dry weather.

Every vacation they went to, they had gone to a public garden. Afterward, her mother and her would go out for tea. It was a tradition in the many places they traveled. They firmly believed their daughter should have a firm grasp on the world. Even when she was apart of two, her parents remained interested in every facet of her education, no matter how it changed.

Malfoy bent to look through the window at the house. "Hm," he mumbled appreciatively. "Quaint house. Do you have a gardener?"

"My dad... He gardens..."

"Not bad." He stared at her. "Aren't you going?"

She rubbed her slicks palms over her jeans. "Um, back to the hotel, please."

"What? No," Malfoy told the driver. "Granger, we're here. What are you doing?"

"I... I just... Can't..."

"Nonsense. Of course you can. These are you parents."

"They won't forgive me. What I did..." She shook her head, the tears stinging, "it's unforgivable."

"And what would you call the things I did?" Malfoy whispered in her ear, "it was a war. We did what we had to."

Hermione shook him away. Her heart was thrumming in her ears, making it impossible to think clearly. The quiet voice that had been in the back of her mind suddenly became louder, " _what if they hate you? They were your parents and you took their memory. You left. You abandoned them. Your own parents._ "

The salty tears stung overflowed. It was ugly and she hated it "Go," she ordered the driver.

Defeated, Malfoy slumped back in the seat. His hand hovered over hers for a brief moment, before he took it, squeezing it. He didn't ask anymore questions and she was appreciative. She wasn't about to explain such deep troubling emotions to Malfoy. Not then, anyway.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Draco didn't know what to do for Hermione. Granted, he had known her since they were eleven, but he never _really_ knew her. He knew her as well as any bully knew their prey. Yet, he wasn't a bully anymore and he fully intended to make it up to her, because despite the short amount of time they spent together, he felt himself falling in love with her.

It should have felt crazy, but it felt... Sane. Logical. How could he not? Hermione was beyond the brightest witch of their age, she was fun and kind. It was impossible not to love her. Suddenly, he realized that perhaps Potter and Weasley hadn't been hanging around her for the sake of their poor marks, but because they actually did care for her.

Draco wasn't pleased about the separate accommodations in the hotel, but he was grateful then. It was easier to sneak out without Hermione knowing. Through a hotel service, he sent up a spa gift package. Hermione would nurse her wounds in a mud bath while he took care of things.

It was easy enough to get to the Granger's. All he had to do was tell the clerks to hail him a cab, and there it was, waiting for him. He did everything as Hermione had done the day before. It was easy, but it wasn't enjoyable. He thought it was the particular cab they took yesterday but it seemed that every cab smelled of spoiled food and cheap cleaners. Twenty long minutes passed in silence and the cab pulled up to the house.

He padded his pockets for the muggle money he sometimes kept on him. Okay, it was a recent development since the war ended. He couldn't go anywhere without dirty stares in the Wizarding World and so he found himself in muggle places. The pubs were nice, people yelled at moving boxes, and no one bothered him much.

Draco handed the driver a few wrinkled bills. By his exclamation, Draco assumed it was sufficient.

He approached the door and took a deep breath. The Granger's would have no idea who he was but he still intended on giving a good first impression. He knocked heavily on the door.

A man in a brand new blue house robe answered (the sales tag sticking out from the collar). He was far from happy, but Draco could see Hermione in his eyes and the thin lines of his mouth, and his hair, too, was quite unruly and brown. Draco couldn't help but smile. All those stories that he heard of her parents he thought of then. He had desperatly wanted to meet them, to prove his old prejudices had died, but Hermione called him silly. Even so, he was glad to be meeting the ordinary muggle man who had lifted her on his shoulders to put a star on the tree, and tangled her up in twinkling lights.

"What do you want? Do you know what time it is? Me and my wife are having dinner."

"Hello, sir. I'm sorry for the inconvenience of the hour." Draco worked hard to keep his voice calm and polite. It was a great struggle because the man's visage made Draco want to spat at him. "My name is Draco Malfoy."

"I'll ask you again, son, what do you want? Whatever it is, we're not interested in buying it."

Draco took out his wand from under his shirt under his back jean pocket and pointed his wand at the man's forehead. "I'm sorry for this, Mr. Granger, but your daughter needs you."

* * *

A/N: I am so sorry that I am now only posting this chapter! While I am adding this note, I will say that I no longer read the reviews. It's for a myriad of reasons. Again, I apologize for the lateness! Love to you all!


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The Granger's must have liked plants, the backyard held brightly colored flowers. He spotted pink roses, Hermione's favorite growing near the garage. Draco pulled away from the kitchen window, sitting at the table where Mr. Granger was serving him tea.

"This headache!"

Draco sipped his tea, surprised that it wasn't as nauseating as he feared. He set the cup down, fingering the handle thoughtfully. "It's a side-effect."

"How long will it last?"

"A few days. It says a lot of Hermione's skill. She was very thorough."

Mr. Granger chuckled, but his tone told a different story of hurt. "She has always been talented."

Draco nodded, listening for the cries of Mrs. Granger upstairs. When Draco had unraveled what Hermione had done, she burst into tears, locking herself in the bedroom. Initially the cries reached their ears in the kitchen, but they seemed to have subsided. Still, Mr. Granger did not offer to check on her, perhaps because he wasn't about to leave Draco alone in his house.

"How is she," he asked Draco, slowly sitting across from him.

"She's well. She misses you."

Mr. Granger rubbed at his hands, bearing on his knuckles. "Why didn't she tell us? Surely there were other ways."

"If there were any way of keeping you safer she would have done it."

"She was too young to get herself mixed up in a war. She is not a soldier."

"It couldn't have been won without her. She saved the world."

Mr. Granger smiled. "I am proud of her... Why didn't she come here herself?"

"I think she was afraid you'd be angry. I can't imagine that'd it be easy to have your parents not recognize you either."

Mr. Granger didn't look appeased. In fact, he did appear to be a little upset. He massaged the deep wrinkles in his forehead. "It'd be like meeting her all over again. Except this time, she's full grown. A warrior." He fell into a deep silence, lost in his thoughts.

Draco didn't particularly excel in comforting someone, that was part of growing up a bully and Death Eater. Comforting was not something that they encouraged, although he saw it frequently between his parents. For some reason he thought he had something to prove. Nevertheless, he didn't know what to do for the muggle man. Bringing his cup of tea to his lips, he drunk, wishing it were Firewhisky instead. He would need some if he were going to be meeting an angry Hermione later.

"Well, sir. I'll call her and then I'll be going."

Mr. Granger shook as if he had been woken suddenly. He gaped at Draco like he'd forgotten that he was there. "Oh, right, right."

Draco hastily shook his sweaty hand but when he opened the door there in front of him was the last person he wanted to see. There was Hermione, her face like stone. It was like the Basilisk had gotten to her again. For a moment, he feared for his well-being, but Hermione didn't spare him a glance, instead, she was looking to her father.

"Hello, Hermione," said her father, tears welling in the identical brown eyes.

"Dad," she asked, her voice cracking.

He uttered three words that caused the tears to overflow down her flushed cheeks: "I remember you." He made the first move, hugging her tightly, Hermione letting out a gasp of surprise or maybe it was the force in which he hugged her. Her eyes slipped closed, her hands reaching around his neck as if she were a little girl.

It was a private moment, one that Draco was not privy to. Carefully, he slid out the door.

He would give himself a night before he boarded a flight back home. Hermione would come home sometime and he would gather how much damage he did to their relationship then. All that really mattered was that she had her parents back. It was worth their relationship if it meant her happiness.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

She hadn't come by his room all night. He woke in the near evening and if she had returned to the hotel, she apparently didn't want to see him.

It was okay, it was what he expected. He busied himself with packing the slow and tortuous way - a harsh way to say the muggle route. He was in the middle of folding a dress shirt when there was a sharp knock.

His heart stopped. There was only one person in which it could be. Like a man to the gallows, he opened it.

Hermione stood there, her voice hoarse and her eyes red. She must have been crying for hours, but every bit of her was somehow beautifully painful.

"Why did you do it, Draco," she asked.

"Because you need your family."

"It was none of your business," she hissed, moving past him into the room. He let the door swing close.

"I did this for your happiness, doesn't that count for something?"

She didn't respond, instead she sat on the edge of the bed, her hands on her knees. Her brown eyes shimmered with fresh tears. Draco was beginning to hate himself for what he did.

"How did it go?"

"They forgave me. But they didn't miss the scar on my neck and the one on my arm. My mom couldn't stop crying." She gripped the bed beneath her until her knuckles turned white. "It's terrible, making your mother cry."

"You didn't make your mother cry, Hermione. That's the fault of the people who..." He couldn't finish the sentence with the memory that it was his aunt that caused those scars.

He sat beside her, his hand tentatively on her back. It was a good sign that she didn't push him away.

"I wanted to do bring their memories back, but I was afraid, that's all. I was going to do it today. Why would you think this was something I wanted? Honestly, what are you after, Malfoy?"  
"I told you, I want you to be happy."

She shook him away, standing in front of him, looking a tad bit mad. "You want me happy?"

Draco wiped his sweaty palms against the fabric of his jeans. He suddenly felt as if he had been punched in the gut. He had to tell her... "I love you."

Hermione swayed a little on the spot, her lips parted in bewilderment. "We've had one date."

"Two, actually. And I've known you for years. Don't act like this is a shock. How can I not?"

"Draco -"

He stood, his hands out to steady her. "Listen, Hermione, I don't expect a thing from you - not after all I've done. But I did this with the best intentions. After making so many of your years miserable I'd like to make twice of them happy."

She croaked a laugh. "I guess that is sweet. I want to hex you, but it's sweet."

Cautiously, he leaned forward, burying his face into her wild hair inhaling the sweet scent of coconut. "Does this mean I'm forgiven?"

In a terrible moment, she hesitated. Then, "only because my parents forgave me."

He kissed the part in her hair. "Is there any way I can make this up to you?"

She rested her chin on his chest, gazing up at him with a surprising loving gaze. "Yes. You can help my parents pack. They're coming back to London."

The heaviness that had weighed on him the past two days lifted. He sighed the weight out and held her tighter. "I'd love to," he lied.

"And you'll do it the muggle way," she told him, and she set about helping him unpack, starting with the half-folded dress shirt.

Inwardly, he groaned. The weight was back.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

While the Granger's were handling their affairs at their office, Draco and Hermione began boxing possessions. Hermione had that stern concentration as she labeled each cardboard box with a thick black marker. She handed him one that read: "Kitchen."

"I'll start boxing the living room," she told him. She placed her hands on her hips, surveying their surroundings. "We should get this done in a couple of days."

Draco carefully put all kinds of muggle contraptions in the boxes. It didn't take long, although it would have taken less than half the time if she had let them do it with magic. He took the box back into the empty living room sans the couch. She wasn't there.

He wandered down the hall, hearing shuffling. He found her in a room that contained a large and ornate bed and she stood in front of a white vanity, simply peering at herself in the mirror.

"Yes, yes, you're beautiful, Hermione," he jested.

She made a sound between a sniffle and a chuckle. "My mom taught me how to put on make-up. I didn't have time for it though. Too many books to read... Too much homework... I never had the patience." She touched a round smooth object. She clicked it open and inside was a mirror. He didn't bother asking why there would be another mirror on the vanity.

She closed it with a snap. "I tried to prepare myself. I knew my parents wouldn't recognize me. I thought they'd be angry."

Slowly, he stood behind her, holding her shoulders. "Then what is it?"

"This might've been my parents life without me..."

"It's not nearly as good, I guarantee you."

She moved her head, kissing the top of his hand. "I never thought I'd be here with you." She twisted in her seat, facing him. She was more serious and more tears. He shifted uncomfortably and got on his knees in front of her.

"Thank you, Draco. You've made this easier on me. I..." Her hands grasped the sides of his face. "I do love you."

It was said with such simplicity, as if she had given it a lot of thought. That was like them: He did things on a whim and she went through the process of logic.

Draco pushed her hands from his cheeks, holding them in his. Whether he was or wasn't, he was afraid he was shaking. "I love you more than I've loved anything."

"This is right," she spoke so softly he barely heard her. More than anything he heard the whirring of the gears in her head spinning faster and faster.

He leaned up and kissed her hard, a stark contrast to their soft words. He wanted more than words, he wanted to push his meaning into her. Every emotion he had ever had for that wonderful woman built up into a disbelief of not having her in his life. In some way, he needed her, but he wanted her more, and she needed to know.

When he let her go, she was smiling, but her mouth twisted into worry. "We are moving fast, Draco."

"We spent so many years doing what we had to. How about for the rest of our lives, we do what makes us happy?"

"You make me happy."

"Then it seems that we are well suited." He kissed her once more, tasting her strawberry chap stick.

"We're home!"

Draco flinched. It only occurred to him then that they were in her parent's bedrooms. He stood upright and snatched the nearest box.

"Relax," Hermione giggled.

Still, he took the box out to greet them. Best to give them a visual display of his hard work instead of giving them the thought that he was snogging their daughter in their bedroom.

There was something about Mrs. Granger that struck Draco. She was beautiful in a put-together kind of way, her back straight and make-up perfect, but he had the distinct impression that she was as bright as Hermione. It was also where Hermione must have gotten her stern expression.

"Hello, Draco," Mrs. Granger greeted kindly. "Did you two get any work done?"

He kept his face unreadable, but internally he cringed. She knew. Mother's always knew.

Like a flight attendant, Hermione pointed to the kitchen and their bedroom. "These three rooms are done. We only have the study to do. We should be able to do that tomorrow before our flight, do you think, Draco?"

"Um, about that... Surely we can get to London another way than by flying in that tin can?"

"We don't have a Portkey and my parent's fireplace isn't set up to the Floo Network."

"You could call Mr. Weasley; have him set it up temporarily."

"He's not the head of the Floo Network -"

"Please, Hermione. I don't think I can handle another flight."

She sighed. "Fine, I'll call them now, see what I can do." She extracted a small device from her pocket.

"What is that?"

"It's a phone, it's the way muggles communicate, but Mr. Weasley has one. Hopefully he's put it back together... Draco, can you place the remaining boxes in the study? We'll get to them tomorrow."

Draco reached for the box, but Mr. Granger held out his hand in a silent gesture to stop. "What is that," he asked, pointing to the mark on Draco's left forearm. "Is that the Dark Mark? You're a Death Eater?"  
"Dad," Hermione interjected, placing the phone back in her pocket. "Draco is reformed. Him and his family were excused."

"How?!"

Mrs. Granger gripped his arm. "Sweetheart, let's put dinner on the table. Forget this."

Incredulous, he turned toward his daughter. "Isn't this the kind of people that you hid us from?"

"Dad, it's a long story."  
"I'm sure it is," her mother agreed, "dinner, sweetheart. On the table. Right here, come on." She led her husband to the kitchen.

Draco looked to Hermione, horrified. "I should leave."

"No," she told him, "I'll talk to dad. Don't worry."

"I can't hide this from your parent's."

She approached him, lifted his arm and placed her hand over the mark. "Your mark and mine... They are our stories. We are not hiding them."

He touched the scar on her neck, the one his aunt made. Of all the terrible nights he suffered when the Dark Lord was in his house, that night was the worst. It wasn't that he particularly liked Hermione then - in fact, he despised her, but to see someone he knew scream the way she had - he could still hear it.

Gingerly, he leaned down and pressed his lips against her marred throat. "Never again," he promised to himself more than her.

She then led him to the kitchen for the most dolorous dinner of his life.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"Your father hates me."

Hermione sighed. "Draco, my father doesn't _hate_ you."

"The way you said that and the looks he was throwing me makes me think he does."

She arrived outside her hotel room, her arms achy, promising to be terribly sore the next day. "Let's not pretend as though your parents will approve of me. Anyway, we have a long day tomorrow and now is not the time to discuss this."

"You're right. As usual." He bent and kissed her chastely. "Goodnight, Hermione."

"Honestly," she laughed incredulously.

Quizzically, he raised a pale brow. "Are you implying you want me to stay?"

"Yes." For once Hermione didn't believe she needed to spell it out. It was Draco and she knew how men were, but Draco was genuinely shocked.

"You were afraid this was moving too fast... I don't want to push you. We can take this as slow as you want."

Draco was a surprise, a bitter taste at first that became sweet later. "When I was on the run. I was sure I'd die. I was on the top wanted list, in case you have forgotten." She took his dusty shirt in her fists. "I want to live the life I didn't think I'd have. So kiss me and take me to bed."

Draco didn't have to be told twice, he took her mouth and pressed her back against the closed door, the handle digging into her hip. Yet, into his mouth she rasped, "don't stop."

The door opened and in the back of her mind she remembered that Draco was adept at silent spells. She didn't know if that was a good idea to use even silent spells in the hallway, but she wasn't in the right mind to scold him. She was too focused on his hands, his kiss, and the way her skin burned.

They fell onto the bed, his body spaced above hers respectfully, but she didn't want that. She clawed at his sides, bringing him fully down on top of her, feeling his weight, his heat, his crisp minty breath on her skin. She wanted every bit of Draco she was allowed to have.

A pulse vibrated against her leg. One... Two... Three... She broke the kiss. "I have to take this."

His forehead creased in confusion until she brought out her mobile, pushing the green button and bringing it to her ear. She mouthed, "sorry."

"Hello?"

"It's Harry. Did you find your parents?"

"Yeah, they have their memories."

"... Are you alright? You sound breathless..."

She bit her bottom lip, feeling a blushing heat crawl up from her face to her face. "I'm fine, Harry, thanks. Um, can you do me a favor? Can you connect my parent's old house and the new up to the Floo Network?"

"Sure..."

She gave him the addresses. "Thank you. I should go."

"... I'll see you when you get back. Let me know if you need help."

"I will. See you soon." She clicked it closed and pitched it to the side.

"Potter," Draco asked, getting closer, the ends of his hair brushing against her cheek.

"He's connecting the fireplaces for us."

"Mmm," he moaned appreciatively in her neck, his hands sliding up her top erupting shivers down her spine.

Perfect. Everything was perfect.

* * *

The luminous red numbers read 2:26 A.M. Draco turned his back to it, molding himself to his girlfriend's form, dotting kisses along her bare shoulder, tracing over the splattering of freckles that marked her skin in such an odd and lovely way. She had been asleep for well over an hour, but Draco's head was swimming with a thousand thoughts.

It felt like he had known her ages. In a way, he guessed he had. They had known each other since they were eleven. He knew how much she loved books, valued knowledge and friendship, the way she squinted her eyes when she studied. He remembered the exact moment he saw Hermione as something other than someone below his status: The Yule Ball. She was gorgeous that night and since then, he couldn't stop thinking her as beautiful. She took him off guard for one night and then decided to stick around for the rest of his life.

One night and a full blown war was all it took. Maybe Hermione knew, or maybe she hadn't worked it through that logical brain of hers, but he knew that she was it. She was who he was meant to be with.

There was only one problem... His parents and her father.

He rid those thoughts. That would sort itself out in due time. It was 2:38 and Hermione was in his arms.

Finally, someone he could do right by, be the right person for.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

They were at the Granger's house shortly after sunrise. Hermione rushed him past the breakfast bar at the hotel, much to his disgust. However, the scent of a better breakfast wafted over him when they entered the house.

Mrs. Granger was bringing eggs to four plates on the table. Sausage was crackling in the fry pan.

"Just in time," she greeted cheerily.

"Draco's hard to wake up."

Mr. Granger hardly looked up over the newspaper but he bade a quick hello. Draco did his best to ignore that. He had Hermione, that's what mattered, not what her father thought. It was a conclusion he came to when he watched Hermione fall asleep in his embrace. Nothing and no one would come between them. He wouldn't let her go so easily.

They sat down for breakfast and luckily Mrs. Granger filled the silence with a rundown of their daily chores. Mrs. Granger had to make calls to realtors and the new owners of their practice (apparently a rival company was eager to buy it).

All Draco and Hermione had to do was box up the study. It didn't sound like much to do, but it was in fact the most cluttered room in the house. While it was lovely, there was an entire cabinet of files, a whole wall of shelves of five-pound books.

"This is your mom's study?"

Hermione began taking books down, "how did you know?"

"Lucky guess."

They spent two hours in that room and it turned out to be the hottest room in the house, directly in the suns path. Draco could feel the trickles of sweat sticking his muggle shirt to him.

"How do people survive here?" He was dying. Surely, his skin was melting off his face, sweat dripping off.

"People are very adaptable," said Hermione, whose hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, but her light tank top clung to her wet skin.

"Lemonade," he offered.

"Please, I left a few things in the kitchen to pack last minute. Read the directions, you should be fine."

He was going to do it by magic, but he didn't have to tell her that. He struggled to push himself off the floor, his energy drained away with his hydration, but Draco eyed Hermione, at that expression she got when she thinking, like she was having a staring contest with the wall. She was beautiful and he could hardly help himself when he spent a great deal of his remaining energy to lean down and kiss her cheek, breathing in her ear the way that she loved. She gave a slight shiver and giggled.

Playfully, she swatted him away, "we need to get this done, don't distract me."

"My apologies, Ms. Granger."

After checking every drawer and cabinet, he found the lemonade packages in the last one. He set everything on the counter and waved his wand. He peered out the window, spotting in the corner Mr. Granger's sensible shoes.

The pitcher hovered over the glasses, pouring the lemonade in. When it set itself down, he took one and left to the back garden.

Mr. Granger was bent over a bed of weeds, wiping his forearm over his damp forehead. He looked gratefully up at the drink.

"Thanks, Malfoy. Where's Hermione?"

"Packing the study. I'll relieve her soon for lunch."

"Good, good. She works too hard."

Draco knelt, eyeing the overgrown bush next to him. At one point the garden must have looked lovely. The Granger's were not the type to let the house chores get out of hand. But when Hermione altered their memories was there something there still mourning the loss of the daughter they didn't remember?

Mr. Granger scooped the last bit of dirt over the base of a rosebush and he took off his gloves, accepting the ice cold glass. He barely gave Draco a cursory glance. That wasn't going to do, not when Draco wanted to ask him something that he deemed to be the utmost importance.

"Mr. Granger, I have something to ask you..."

"Ask away," he said off-handedly, setting the lemonade down and returning to his work.

"I want to be clear with you about my intentions with your daughter. When we return to London, I want to live with her. And when the time is right, I want to marry her. I want to tell you this in case you had any ideas of who I am."

Pointedly, Mr. Granger stared at the stark black tattoo on Draco's arm. "You're a Death Eater."

"I was... It's complicated, sir..."

"There's nothing complicated about hate. I am a muggle, my wife is a muggle, and my daughter is the one with magic - but you must hate her, too. 'Mudblood,' is what _your_ kind says, isn't it?"

Draco stood, looking down at him. "My parents raised me with certain ideals," he said the last two words with difficulty, "just as you raised your daughter with yours. Mine was based on entitlement, yours was based on equality. I only want to do right by her now."

Mr. Granger stood only a couple of inches above him, but every bit as menacing as he was desiring himself to be. So it wasn't only Mrs. Granger that Hermione inherited her glare from. Draco couldn't help but take a step back.

"If you want to do right by her, then you should leave. I don't want my daughter with someone like you."

Rarely in his life had he faltered for a response, but he was cognizant that he was treading dangerous waters. This wasn't a nemesis, it wasn't Potter or Weasley. He was no longer eleven years old. He swallowed and steeled himself.

"You're right," he seethed. "I am not the best for your daughter, but she is for me."

"As long as you bear that tattoo, I will not approve. Your kind ripped our family apart."

"Hermione took memories to protect her family and I stayed on the wrong side of the war to protect mine. We did what we had to. It was a war. I wasn't a good person but I will _never_ harm your daughter."

"I don't trust you."

"You don't have to. She does." Draco turned his back on him, going to back into the house. He stopped short, the door swinging shut behind him.

Mrs. Granger was leaning on the counter, the lemonade to her lips. Over the lid she smiled. "I heard everything, Draco."

"Mrs. Granger..." He faltered. He didn't know how to explain what she would surely see as being rude to her husband.

She set the glass down and patted his arm in a surprisngly gentle way. "My daughter is a bright young woman. She knows what's best for her. My husband will come around." She lightly kissed his forehead, a motherly act which surprised Draco, but before he could gather his wits, she left with her glass.

Hermione passed her mother and held up her hands. "Where have you been," she asked.

"I... I had a talk with your dad."

Her face fell. "Oh..."

"He doesn't approve."

Hermione sighed, shrugging halfheartedly. "He'll come around."

"I don't know about that."

She didn't say another word about it, instead she embraced him tightly. She smelled of dust, old paper, and a hint of her sweet flowered perfume. He inhaled deeply pulling her close. "Come," she whispered, "let's finish the study so we can go home."

Home. That sounded bearably sweet.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Hermione returned to England and spent three consecutive days putting her parents home back together. She was infinitely grateful to the boys (Harry, Ron and George) for helping the disaster that it was before. She would never want her parents to know what the Death Eaters had done in their wake.

The next week, Hermione was hired on as a prosecutor at the Ministry. Unwilling to be a burden upon Mrs. Weasley any longer, she bought Lupin and Tonks' house. Granted, she was unnerved by the thought of buying it: It made her sad to think of the life they would never have there.

Once more, she enlisted Harry, Ron and George's help. Within an afternoon, her new furniture was set and she paid them off with dinner. She didn't want to admit that while she could have hired help, she wanted company.

Truth was, she was lonely and she realized then how much she missed Draco. It was easy to see him once a day for lunch while she kept busy, but when she returned home from the Ministry, her new house echoed an ache. She felt guilty for how busy she had been. It never seemed to matter before, how much time she spent with school work. She became so ingrossed in her grades and organization she was lost to the world. She noticed, though, as she sat on the couch, looking over a case, that she missed him. It didn't matter that he would simply sit beside her, she wanted him there.

It was too much, and she apparated into Draco's flat. He was standing in front of his window, in his dark blue boxers, a mug of what smelled like fresh coffee in his hand. He turned toward the sound of the _crack_ , his wand pointing at her chest.

"Hermione," he gasped, relieved, lowering his wand. "You shouldn't sneak up like that."

"I missed you," she stated.

He set his mug on the floor, his wand in the band of his boxers, and met her halfway. He embraced her close. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of the soap he used.

Hermione saw that his flat hadn't changed since their second date. She was proud of his ability to live modestly, but it wasn't quite fit for two.

"Will you stay with me tonight," she asked.

"I've been waiting," he admitted, taking her hand.

Hermione raised herself on her toes, and kissed his cheek. Within a second they both appeared in Hermione's living room.

Draco surveyed the pair of bookshelves on either side of the couch, the glass coffee table, the trinkets lined up on the mantle along with pictures of her family and friends. "I've never seen your place before," he noted, gently considering the tiny glass elephant she had obtained from a great aunt before her passing.

"Let me give you a tour, then."

Hermione led him through the house. It was a fairly old house, the plumbing was a bit loud, but she loved the old taps, heavy porcelain, crystal knobs and creaky floorboards. She expected Draco to judge each room, from the bright white kitchen, to the old-fashioned clawed tub in the bathroom, to the yellow-ish light in the bedroom.

Draco perched himself on her blue comforter, inspecting the fabric. "You have taste, Hermione." With his hand still in hers, he pulled her between his legs, down to his lips.

"You should spend the night," she whispered against his mouth, her fingers grazing the stubble of his jaw line.

"Are you sure?"

Gently, she pressed his shoulders until he was lying fully on his back and she straddled his waist. "I want to spend more time with you."

His hand found its way under her hair, seizing a handful of it for a moment before clasping the back of her neck. "I'll spend as much time with you as you will allow."

"The night then?"

From under her legs, in one smooth movement, he lifted her and moved her beneath him. A soft giggle escaped her lips and she sighed breathlessly as he let his weight fall over her.

"Just a night," he teased, his thumb tracing her cheekbone.

"Or two."

"Three?"

"Then you'll need a drawer."

"And what if I never want to leave?"

She wrapped her legs around him, securing him to her. "Then welcome home."

Golden light spilled over the white sheet that covered Hermione's legs. She took a deep breath, blinking in the bright morning. Stretching her limbs, pulling at the sheet that tangled itself around her. Her hand touched the pillow that Draco had used the night before. She twisted her body over. He was gone and his side was cold.

The chilled floor stung the pads of her feet. Beside her bed was a chair that she used to match her outfits for the next day, but all that was there was her favorite silk robe. She slung it on and left the bedroom. From there she followed the strong scent of dark coffee into the kitchen.

Draco was at the open window dropping a couple of sickles into a pouch tied to the leg of an owl. On the table was the Daily Prophet and next to that was a white bag where inside were two bagels.

"You got breakfast," she said.

"I wasn't going to serve you my cooking again," he jested, kissing her. He proceeded to pour two mugs of coffee.

She sat down, drawing the paper toward her, but she didn't read the headline. She straightened the collar of his shirt as happiness swelled inside of her. "I'm going to get dressed and we'll help my parents move. That is..." Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. "Um... Draco, do you have a job?"

Draco's lip twitched. "My family has plenty of money. I've never needed to work."

"Oh. Great then, you can help."

"Now I'm wishing I had a job."

She swatted his shoulder, but gave in. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking about the situation between you and my dad. I'll talk to him."

"No," he said firmly. "I can stand up for myself. You shouldn't have to be worried by any of this."

She guffawed. "How can I not be? My dad and my boyfriend don't get along."

Draco stood, touching the end of her hair. "It'll all work out."

"You don't have to come. Spend today moving in your things. I'll see if any of the Weasley's can help."

Draco sat across from her with his own mug. "You're the best, don't you know?"

She flipped the paper open. "I know."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Hermione returned to her parent's house in London with Harry, Ron and George, each with a box. With her elbow she jutted the doorbell, careful as to not let the fragile box collapse in her hold.

"Why do I have the heavy one," George groaned his fifth complaint.

Mrs. Granger opened the door, ushering them in. "Thank you so much for helping us! Hold on, let me see if I remember," she said cheerily as they dropped their boxes in the midst of the living room, "George, Ron, and Harry - of course." She shook each of their hands in turn. "Thank you."

"No problem," George lied, "where do you want these boxes?"

Mr. Granger came into the room with a bucket of suds. "Hey boys. I thought I heard voices. Thanks for this, I'm sure you have other things to do. Hermione," he nodded at his daughter, "may I talk with you?"

Hermione exchanged a perplexed glance with her mother and followed her father into the kitchen. On the way he set the bucket on the floor and snapped his rubber gloves off, pitching them into the sink.

"I'm sorry that you and that Malfoy boy broke up."

"Dad, we didn't break up."

"Then why are your friends here?"

Hermione steeled herself for the inevitable. "Draco is moving his things into my house."

Her dad smacked his hands against the counter. "Hermione... I know you're not a child anymore and I don't know what you went through in that war, but you're my daughter. You're intelligent. You fought against him. How can you trust who he is?"

Hermione blew out the breath that she had been holding. Slowly, she shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "I just do. I've seen people change... He's one of them." She drew herself on her tiptoes and kissed her father's cheek, the stubble sticking her. "I'm still your kid, dad, but I have to live my life now."

"I know," he sighed as she left.

Hermione stopped short in the living room. Her mother was gone, but Harry, Ron and George were still standing there and the boxes hadn't been touched. They had the gall to not even act like they hadn't been listening.

Ron's arms were crossed firmly over his chest, his ears as red as radishes. "Malfoy is moving in?!"

Harry gave her an apologetic glimpse and jabbed his elbow into George's ribs. Together they began to unpack the topmost of the boxes. Hurriedly they worked, but Ron was not backing down, he approached her, the redness spreading from his ears to his cheeks.

"Malfoy," he accused.

"If you don't have anything of purpose to say, perhaps we should get started."

"You're acting as if this isn't a big deal. You barely started _dating,"_ he spat out the wood with disgust, "and now you're moving him in with you?"

"This is none of your concern, Ronald."

Harry stepped in, a saucepan in his grip, "um, Ron, maybe you should help us here."

"Has everyone gone bonkers? Why don't you care? It's Malfoy!"

Harry was like a deer in headlights. He shrugged helplessly. "Hermione knows what she's doing..."

Hermione grabbed Ron's arm and pulled him to face her. She raised her chin. "Do you still have feelings for me?"

Ron stuttered nervously, the blush deepening. "Of course not! It's just that... That... Did you forget that he sent a killing curse after you?"

"How dare you," she seethed, striding nearer to him, her finger pointed at his chest. "I can't ever forget, but Malfoy has changed and maybe you should, too, Ronald." She turned on her heels and walked out into the hallway.

Without much thought, she shut herself into what used to be her bedroom. Her mother was there, sitting on her bed, holding a rather thick book in her hands, one that Hermione recognized to be the storybook she was read to as a child.

Mrs. Granger held it up, "I used to read this to you every night. You had every word memorized, but you would still have me read the same story. The one about the man and the fish that made him the wisest man in the land. Do you remember?"

Hermione sat next to her, lying her head on her shoulder. She breathed in the rich scent of her perfume and tears sprung, muddling her vision. She had missed it so much and the ache in her chest increased ten-fold.

"Is your dad giving you a hard time?"

"And Ron."

"Oh, well, it's hard for people to accept what is foreign to them. That's why I happen to like your boyfriend. Despite how he was raised, he brought you back to us. That's enough to tell me he's a good man." She kissed her temple. "Be patient with them, dear."

"They are stubborn."

She chuckled. "They don't like to admit how much they need us. Listen to me, sweetheart, you're not the little girl we saw off to Hogwarts. I don't approve of you protecting us, but I understand it. You've been through more than I can bear to think of. You're a grown woman now and I believe you can make your own choices. You were always a smart one."

"Dad used to say it was the smart ones who got into the most trouble."

"And he was right!" She rubbed her daughter's arm. "But he's not now, not about him. Be easy on him and be easy on yourself."

Large tears rolled down to her chin. All those nights that she spent away, not one had gone by without a thought to them, without aching for her home. "I've missed you so much, mom."

A kiss was placed on the part of her hair.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

Draco grimaced. "That didn't go well then, did it?"

Hermione brought her glass of wine to her lips while Draco's fingers worked their magic on her forehead. She lied against his chest, propped up on pillows. She had just finished telling him the the thrilling tale of what happened earlier that day.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, he was always a bit of a git, too, you know."

She wasn't about to fight with Draco so she bit her tongue. "I didn't think it would be this hard. I knew Ron wouldn't like it... My father will come around, though, soon enough. It will take time is all."

Music in the form of a soft patter started on the windows. They listened to it in silence for a long while. Draco's fingers had fallen away from her forehead and were instead massaging her neck.

She looked around her living room. It appeared that nothing had been added or moved. She bit her lip for a moment, before asking. "Tell me, what did you move in today?"

"A photograph of my family and a case of Firewhisky."

"Is that all?"

"You saw my flat, I didn't have much."

She didn't want to sound crass, but the question came out before she could stop it. "How can you be that rich and have nothing?"

"My family didn't approve of me living in the city."

"They are holding your things hostage?"

"Childhood things, really. They're in my childhood home where they belong."

Hermione almost choked on her wine. She had seen his "childhood home" and that "home" was a manor. It wasn't hard to see Draco strutting down the stairs to breakfast or getting himself into trouble in what she could only imagine were hidden alcoves and rooms.

"Do you talk with your parents at all?"

"On occasion."

She knew where it was leading, but she had to hear it from him. "Do they know about me?"

There was a long pause and Draco's fingers halted. Hermione sighed, pulling herself up, tucking her legs underneath her. She looked at him, but his face was passive, without emotion. She was used to seeing that, it meant that he was hiding what he was actually feeling, a skill he had perfected.

"Why haven't you told them?"

"My parents are set in their ways," he excused.

"I told my father."

"Easy for you, your father is a muggle!" Hermione glared and Draco instantly knew he had made a mistake. "What I meant was... My family is not yours. Mine is the reason yours went into hiding."

"I don't want to be someone's secret, Draco! Even if it's to your parents. I'm very well aware of what they have done. I was there."

Draco took the glass from her, setting it on the table. In a deliberate manner, he held her face. "What happened in that manor will never happen again and never again will I stand by and watch as harm comes to you. You will never have to face their judgement. You shouldn't have to."

"I don't care."

"I do. These are my parents, Hermione, let me deal with this as I see fit."

Hermione forced a smile and nodded. She didn't want to feel as though she was an embarrassment, but forcing Draco to talk with his estranged family was not a good idea. When he was pushed, he pushed back and they had enough to deal with without her adding fuel to the fire.

Draco kissed her hairline and gently pushed her wine back into her hands. It didn't have the appeal to relax her anymore, but perhaps it would lull her to a deep sleep. A sleep where they didn't bear their scars.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

Autumn was arriving early, the lawn moist with last night's rain, but the sky was a bright blue lighting the brilliant white kitchen. The scent of strong coffee woke Hermione before her first cup.

She peered over the Daily Prophet at Malfoy, who was draining his own "I heart London" mug. Licking her lips, she said, "have you spoken to your parents this week?"

Draco furrowed his brows as he did so often when she asked an uncomfortable question. "They're doing well."

Hermione sighed, folding her paper and setting it between them. "Draco, when will you tell them that you're living here?"

"When Ron Weasley becomes Minister of Magic."

"That's not funny."

He leaned back in his chair, "we've been over this. They wouldn't understand." He laid his hand over hers, "I may have changed, but my family hasn't."

Hermione withdrew his hand from his. "I don't like keeping this secret."

"You don't have to. I will."

Hermione took their mugs and dumped them in the sink. Like a heat against her back, she could feel Draco wait for her to turn her around, but she couldn't, struggling with the feelings that perhaps she wasn't a permanent fixture in Draco's life if he wasn't able to tell his parents about her. It was a foolish thought, because she knew better, deep inside she knew how Draco felt. She knew his parents and couldn't blame him, but that rare sense of insecurity edged to the forefront of her mind.

There was no use dwelling on it then. She grabbed her briefcase and kissed Draco's cheek. She left through the fireplace and went her usual route through the Ministry up to her office.

Above the back of the comfy chairs was someone with bright red hair and the perfumed scent of flowers reached her. Hermione sat at her desk and faced someone she was sure wouldn't be a client.

Ginny held out a tall styrofoam cup of coffee. "Here."

"Thank you," she said suspiciously, accepting the hot cup. "What are you doing here?"

"It's Harry's day off and he's taking me out. Before our date, I thought I'd visit you, see how you and Draco were getting on..." She raised a thin brow at her.

"Very well."

"You were always a bad liar," Ginny snipped. From behind her she brought out a folded newspaper and slapped it on the desk. "Did you see this?"

"Draco hogged the first page this morning," she admitted, sliding it under her nose.

"No wonder," she muttered.

It really was no wonder. In bold, black letters was, "Annual Malfoy Ball to Continue in Aftermath of Treachery." Underneath it was a moving photo of Mr. ad Mrs. Malfoy, their faces as strict as ever, not a glow of warmth, although Lucius' hand was placed firmly on his wife's waist.

"I guess he didn't want you to know," Ginny said.

"I guess not..."

"You should go."

Hermione rolled her eyes, flipping the paper face-down. "And cause a scene?"

"Of course not," Ginny smirked with the sarcasm of scandal. "You should show up as if you were invited."

"But I wasn't."

Defeated, Ginny slumped back in her seat, it creaking in protest. "Then what are you going to do?"

Hermione felt uncomfortable, as if she were sitting on a chair of pins. "This is Draco's business, not mine."

"Oh," she laughed, "like it was his business to bring your parents memories back!"

"That was different..."

"Is it? I don't think scoping his parents out is half as bad as what he did. C'mon, Hermione, imagine how angry they'll be when they find out who they're son is dating! This might be for your own good. Also, you'll be seeing first hand how pure-bloods behave within their own community! You know, since only elitist pure-bloods can attend in the first place."

Hermione knew that Ginny was feeding her curiosity, her need for knowledge. "What would you suggest I do?" She regretted the question the moment it left her mouth.

Ginny smiled, "I think you should go as Draco. See first-hand how the relationship between him and his parents are."

"You do realize I'm a lawyer," she asked in a low voice for only her to hear.

"What's the point of being a lawyer if you can't get into trouble sometimes."

"That is exactly why I'm not your lawyer, Ginny Weasley. My career couldn't handle that - I can't. And it's an invasion of privacy on Draco, his parents..."

"And you're dying to do it. I know you, you're curious."

Ginny had never been great at advice. In those times her twin brother's influence showed through. Right then, she saw Fred in those twinkling eyes. Her chest hurt briefly at that.

"Thank you for your concern, but I have to get back to work." Hermione returned the newspaper to her friend, not wanting to look at it all day. She took out her pen, looking around the desk for the newest documents.

Ginny gave an audible sigh before leaving, but when she did, Hermione found herself distracted. It was possible Ginny was right... Maybe it wouldn't hurt to approach the Malfoy's. After all, Draco had no problem approaching her family...

 _Great_ , she thought, she had been affected by the younger Weasley's influence, too.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

Hermione felt guilty before Ginny had arrived. Draco had left to get dinner while she fretted in front of the fireplace. She looked at her watch three times in the span of a minute, each second dragging longer and longer. If Ginny didn't hurry they would caught during the transaction.

She couldn't believe she was going through with it. Had she completely lost her mind? Then again, if she thought about it, it was just like her. She almost did a similar thing in her Second Year, but that had been different. Hogwarts had been at stake. There was nothing truly at stake at that moment, other than Hermione's peace of mind.

She wanted so badly for Draco to be at peace with his parents. If they were the same people she had met when she was in school, she dreaded to think about the consequences. _Yes,_ she decided, she was doing the right thing. It was for their own good.

Flames erupted from the hearth and Hermione jumped back as Ginny crept out, dusting ash from her jeans. She saw Hermione and handed her a bottle.

"That should last you. Just for a night, right?"

She stared at the contents of the bottle, brown like muck. She hadn't been near that potion in years. It weighed heavily in her hand and on her conscious.

"I can't believe you're going through with this. This is bad-ass of you, Hermione."

She bit her lip. "I shouldn't..."

"But you're going to - and you should! Come on, you have a prime opportunity here!"

"Should I ask you why you had this?"

"You being a lawyer and my friend, no, you shouldn't ask." She held up her hands at Hermione's sharp look. "It wasn't illegal per se, and no one got hurt. It was a small prank on an opposing team. You are not one to be judging me right now - not after what you're going to do."

"I'm a terrible person," she groaned, turning to the bathroom, Ginny on her heels.

"You know, after everything you have done, this doesn't crack the top five."

"Excuse me?"

"You trapped a journalist in a jar."

"She was publishing horrid things!"

"You set Snape on fire."

"I thought he was cursing Harry!"

"Hermione, don't you see? You do these things when you are worried for someone. You're worried for Draco, for yourself and your relationship. These aren't normal parents, they were Death Eaters. Despite everything, they are still well connected. You need to make sure."

Hermione searched her brush that Draco secretly used. When she found a thin blond hair, she plucked it out and uncorked the bottle, letting it fall inside. It bubbled and sizzled changing into a dark gold, almost brown. A light acidic odor rose to which Hermione crinkled her nose at.

"Gross," Ginny commented.

Hermione firmly pushed the cork back in and slipped the bottle through the top of her blouse, securely fitting it in her bra.

Ginny had a funny look on her face. "Does Draco never check there?"

Hermione ignored her. "Go on with you before Draco comes back."

"So you're going tomorrow night?"

"Yes," she hissed, "now go." She pushed her out of the bathroom back into the living room and toward the fireplace.

"What about Draco?"

"He'll be meeting up with Nott for drinks."

Just then the doorknob jangled with keys and it swung open. Draco strolled through, his arm laden with a plastic bag advertising a Chinese restaurant.

"Weasley," he said quizzically.

"Hello, Malfoy," she said too sweetly.

Draco tried to regain his composure, and he did so brilliantly. "Will you be joining us?"

"Oh no, I'm making dinner for Harry and I needed a recipe from Hermione." Her lie was so flawless, something Hermione wished she could emulate better.

Ginny turned and smiled at her friend. "Thanks!"

"Recipe," Draco questioned, "Hermione doesn't cook."

Hermione glared at him. "I do cook!"

"Not well," Ginny muttered before plastering that almost-real smile on her face again. "I better go, I'm starving." She hurried into the fireplace where green flames masked her.

Quickly Hermione took the bag from Draco and went into the kitchen. She busied herself with plates and silverware, her heart louder than Draco's footsteps behind her.

Ginny was a superb liar, but Draco was better. Ginny could lie, but Draco could not only lie but tell when others were lying as well. Hermione saw it in his face, he knew that something more was going on. She felt him staring at the back of her head for a long time, burning a hole in her skull.

She heard the chair scrap against the gray linoleum. She bit the inside of her cheek from reprimanding him.

Hermione set the table, and brought out the food, but Draco captured her gaze. He wasn't performing legilimency, but he might as well have. She felt like her secret was scrawled out on her forehead. All the time she spent with Harry and the Weasley's, the time she was on the run, she hoped that she was only able to fib.

"What's going on, Hermione?"

"I can't discuss it, it's business."

"You're lying."

"Yes," she whispered, but before she could say more, Draco held up his hand to stop her.

"I don't want to hear it if you don't want to tell me. Tell me in your own time."

The guilt twisted in her stomach. "Honestly?"

He gave half of a shrug. "I'll find out at some point. It's no hurry, we have all the time in the world."

She hoped they would.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

Hot, burning bile rose in Hermione's throat. She clutched the sink, her jaw tight as it twisted and widened; her cheekbones rising, her chest flattening. She tried to count down but the numbers blurred as tears wet her cheeks. The pain slowly faded.

Although she expected it, a jolt of shock went through her as she gazed in the mirror and saw Draco staring back at her from his silver-flecked gray eyes. She touched his - her face, hair loose about her brow.

She looked until she found the bottle of gel and began to slick the blonde strands away from her face and took the clothes she had laid out for Draco. Despite having seen him nude many times and she was then feeling the way he must have, she averted her eyes as best as she could. It was an intrusion.

No longer was it the Polyjuice Potion that was turning her stomach. She was going to be ill. She couldn't do it. It wasn't right.

Draco's eyes caught her reflection. She was in his dress robes, looking quite handsome.

No. She had to go through with it. What was _right_ never stopped Draco from doing what he thought was best for them. It was her turn.

She took the invitation off the sink. She had found it on Draco's desk, the flap facing upward to hide the address of where it came from. Obviously he hadn't gotten around to throwing it out - lucky for her.

The invitation was heavy stock paper, beige, the outer edges a curling green, the lettering the right amount of fancy for the Malfoy's. She placed it in the inside pocket of her - his robe and went to the fireplace.

No second thoughts. She wasn't going to let the Polyjuice potion go to waste. She had one shot. After all, it would only last for an hour. Surely she couldn't cause too damage in an hour.

Much to her chagrin she thought the best way to get to the Malfoy Manor was by the Knight Bus. She went out into her street and held out her lit wand. Within moments there was a two-decker blue bus that screeched loudly to a halt in front of her.

By instinct, she looked up and down her muggle street to be sure that none of her neighbors had poked their heads out. They hadn't.

The door opened and a scraggly man greeted her. "'Ello there, sir. No bags?"

She shook her head and dug into her pocket for change. "Malfoy Manor." She handed him the handful of coins.

The man looked her up and down. "Ah, you must be Draco Malfoy." He stared down at the bit of gold money as if it were dirty.

"Sir," Hermione tried to put all the forcefulness of Draco's tone into her borrowed voice.

She thought of how she once was Draco's aunt Bellatrix. If she could get through that (not to mention the time she was a cat) she could get through being Draco. How hard could it be portraying the one you love? She knew the new Draco better than anyone.

Hermione was in charge. She could do it.

The scraggly man peered down at her, nodding her way in. The beds were lopsided, an elderly man with quite the green complexion held tight to the frame of the bed he was in. Hermione heard Harry's retelling of what it was like and she decided to remain standing, grabbing a hold of one of the metal beams just in time for the sheer force of the bus moving forward to jerk her backward off of her feet.

A sharp pain exploded in her shoulder. She reached up with left hand, holding on for dear life as the bus jerked to the right, throwing off her balance again.

The bus ride only lasted five minutes, but it felt more like an hour and that Hermione had been violently shaken in a bottle. She used to have a secret fascination with genies, but she had a new outlook on their life.

Hermione stumbled out of the bus. It took off the second that the door closed behind her back. She glared into the night where it disappeared, then looked up at the manor.

Once again, she felt sick and she touched her neck where her scar was. It wasn't there, of course, but nonetheless she could still feel the cold blade against her skin. The white lettering on her arm burned. She looked down, but the scarred words of "mudblood" weren't there, instead it was the faded Dark Mark. It was no longer black and obvious, but the scarring made it clear what it was.

Hermione shook the thoughts away, moving her hand self-consciously over the short and slick hair. She wiped the residue of the gel on the inside of her sleeve.

The tall iron gates were guarded by two stoutly wizards. She approached them, holding out her invitation. The left one snatched it up and looked closely at it. He then stepped out of the way for the gates to open up her way down a cobblestone road to two large front doors that, too, opened.

Whatever that Hermione had imagined, it wasn't the amount of people. Were all those people supporters of the Malfoy's? She knew that plenty of people still held Death Eater ideals, but being among them made Hermione feel very exposed.

Soft classical music played from the walls while people milled about and chatted. Waiters made their way through, holding trays of small desserts. It was subdued and overly classy. She looked about for Draco's parents, but she hardly was in two steps before she was approached by a familiar face.

"Draco, you're here, mate," the ratty man about her age said. Although his tone denoted surprise, he did not show it.

 _Nott._ "What are you doing here," she asked before she could stop herself.

"You owled me and said that you weren't feeling well."

"Oh... Um, I'll explain later, I need to leave."

Nott screwed up his gaunt eyes. "You're acting odd. Why are you sweating?"

Apparently Nott knew Draco as well as Hermione did... She sucked in a breath. "I need to go." She turned toward the door, ready to run.

Then...

"Draco!"

Hermione turned and saw Mrs. Malfoy, her normal expressionless features alight, tears shining in her eyes. She threw herself at Hermione, throwing her arms around her.

"You're here! Oh, your father will be delighted! Where have you been? How have you been? We've missed you so much, dear."

Hermione stuttered, feeling a dozen set of gazes on her. "I don't think this is the place, mother."

"Of course, of course. Let's talk." She motioned for Mr. Malfoy, who had stayed on the outskirts of the crowd, his eyes, identical to Draco's, were also shining.

Mrs. Malfoy waved at her guests, "excuse our short absence, continue on!"

Draco's parents led her to the kitchens where wizards were waving wands, dishes were flying about, spoons stirring pots themselves. She was relieved not to find house-elves.

Mrs. Malfoy, rounded on her immediately. "Tell us everything! We've missed you greatly, Draco."

Mr. Malfoy had gathered his wits because he stared angrily at her. "You've worried your mother sick! And you come here, making a scene in front of our friends. You know you have been been branded as a traitor among our people. You should have contacted us first so we could deal with this properly!"

Hermione knew that they coddled Malfoy, but his father had high expectations. She just didn't imagine the amount of hostility that would come with it. "I received an invitation, father."

"You were to owl us. Don't be a smart-ass -"

Mrs. Malfoy placed a hand on her husband's shoulder, calming him. "We're happy that you're okay. Draco, where have you been?"

"I'm living at a respectable flat," she lied.

"A flat?!" Mr. Malfoy seemed mortified.

"We don't know anymore," Mrs. Malfoy said gently, "you haven't been home since..." She exhaled, "the war. The last time we saw you was the trial. It's been so long, Draco... We're worried for you. We want to know about your life."

"Living in muggle accommodations is not suitable for someone in this family," Mr. Malfoy snapped again, but this time, the soft touch of his wife's hand did not ease him. He shrugged her away to point a menacing finger at Hermione's face. "You've brought shame to us. It's time now for us to clean this mess up. Go home now and we'll make excuses for your behavior."

Suddenly, Hermione understood why Draco was staying away from his parents. Hermione felt hot, her palms slick with sweat. She had gotten her answer, how the Malfoy's would react to Draco's life, to her. There was no bringing them back for him. All she could do then was try to leave unscathed.

"You're right... I should go."

She didn't make it to the door. Her hip bone began vibrating with the sound of Beethoven's fifth symphony.

Mr. Malfoy spun her around. "What is that irritating sound?"

"It's - it's called a mobile phone..."

"Speak up!"

"It's a muggle communication device."

"Then talk to whoever is on the other end."

The threat was real and she knew she had to do it. She hoped that it was Harry. Her hand shook as she extracted her small mobile and flipped it open. Placing at her ear.

"My love, where are you?"

Mr. Malfoy leaned in to listen, quirking his top lip at the sound that came through the speaker. Hermione felt her chest contracting as Mr. Malfoy's face slowly contorted into rage.

He knew she wasn't Draco.

He didn't know who she was.

He was reaching for his wand.

Hermione ran out, the phone clutched tightly in her hand as she pushed her way through the crowds, her heartbeat and breath louder than the music and gasps. Draco's father yelled behind her.

"Get him! That is not my son!"

Nott grabbed her wrist, but she twisted out and tripped out of the doorway and onto the gravel. She drew herself up and pulled out her wand from the inside of the pocket of her robe and aimed it at the guards. "Stupefy!"

The guards fell and she aimed for the gate. It blew open as she leapt over stone bodies as lights from curses sparked on either side of her.

All she heard was her heart and the small infuriated cry from Draco over the phone.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

As soon as Hermione stepped inside of the gate surrounding her house, Draco's robe loosened and hung off her. She was struggling up the walk, picking it up at the sides, trying to keep it on, watching as her hands darkened slightly, her hands shrinking. She felt her lengthening brown hair tickle her shoulders.

The door opened before Hermione could fetch her key. Without looking at her, Draco stood aside to let her in. His face was guarded and Hermione chose to not to glimpse up at him as she walked past.

He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, stopping her in the middle of their living room. The silence was deafening, but he still did not say a word. Instead, he placed himself behind her and from the hem he lifted the robe over her head, leaving her naked before him.

"What did you do, Hermione?"

The lack of emotion in his voice stole hers. She could not only tell him what she did but how she failed spectacularly. How could she have not put her phone on silent? How could she have betrayed him in the first place?

He turned her to face him. The frown he wore was painful, like daggers to the heart. She tried to prepare herself quickly for his anger, the image of him walking out on her.

"I went to your parents party," she confessed.

His hands fell from her, and his jaw clenched. "How did you get in?"

"I found the invitation on your desk."

"An invitation is not enough, Hermione. They know you. How did you get in?"

He knew, but he wanted to hear her admit to it. Tears sprung in her eyes and she forced the words from her aching throat. "I took a bit of your hair."

He spun away from her, his hands going to his head. Despite knowing the answer, he'd been hoping for different. "You took Polyjuice Potion?"

"Yes."

A few sharp intakes of breath and he turned back. Strikingly, he looked so much like his father that for a brief moment she was afraid. "You had no right!"

"I know... I thought..." She straightened, raising her chin. "I thought since you got my parents back for me that I - "

"My parents are not your parents, Hermione! My childhood was not yours! You think because I grew up a pure-blood living in a mansion that my life was privileged, but my raising was about preserving a legacy!"

Hermione's bottom lip shook, her cheeks wet and sticky. She felt like a child being scolded but she had deserved it. What she did, it was worse than lying. She had stolen from him and played him in his life.

"I'm sorry, Draco. I'm so sorry."

"Did they know who you were?"

"They knew I wasn't you... I got out of there as fast as I could, but not without damage."

"What damage," he spat from between his clenched teeth. He looked dangerous, his fingers twitching as if desiring his wand.

"I had to hex two guards."

A moment passed in a crawl. She wished he would continue to yell, to walk away, do anything but stand there silently. Was he going to leave her? Hate her? Did she just destroy the first bit of love she had since Ron?

Then, Draco's shoulders slumped, his lips curling up in a surprising smile. "You hexed the guards?"

"What I did was a criminal offense and I am a lawyer, I could not risk -"

Draco pulled her to him, his lips crashing on hers. She froze for a second, unsure about what was happening, and then she began kissing him back. Hands beneath her knees, he picked her up, wrapping her legs around his waist. He carried her to the bedroom where he dropped her on to their bed.

"I'm still angry with you," he said as he pulled off his shirt.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

From the manor he had been able to see the stars, but Draco wasn't able to from Hermione's window; the streetlamps covered them in their harsh glow. He tried covering the window with special drapes, but Hermione couldn't sleep without the lamps. He wondered how she slept in Hogwarts where the closest they had were candles.

She slept on her side, her hair in a messy bun. Feeling her even breath against his chest, he gently pressed a kiss to her hair. Slowly he slid out from the covers and pulled on his boxers. There was no use sleeping that night but he could hardly blame the muggle lights. He couldn't stop thinking of his parents.

Draco couldn't help but be infuriated that his parents didn't bother to tell him that someone faked being him at their party. It was typical of the Malfoy clan. Blood was only as thick as their values and when you failed to meet them they literally burned you out of the tapestry.

Hermione risked a lot going there. Her intentions may have been good, but his father was not one to be trifled with and the life he had with Hermione was everything to him. Their house was too small, the woodblock creaked, the sink clogged, but how much he loved it all. He loved how he woke up to her every morning, the Saturday dinners at the Weasley's, and the morning paper over coffee.

Quietly he dressed and he left the house. A few streets down was a pub he frequented. It was tiny and dank and the beer was substandard, but it was something to warm his insides, something to dull his overly-loud thoughts.

He sat at the bar and ignored the box in the corner that was yelling out number and statistics. He forgot what the muggles called the sport, but he overheard enough to know that it was a lousy version of Quidditch.

A man sat next to him, slouching in a familiar manner.

"Hello, Theo," Draco greeted, taking a swig of his drink.

The corners of Theo's lips turned up in what was a facsimile of a smile. Draco supposed he never had a real one. Theo's life was much like his own, but unlike Draco, the sandy-blonde man never found happiness.

"Life not so good with the muggle-born," he asked offhandedly.

Draco clinched his beer tighter. "It's not her."

"C'mon, you used to tell me everything before you decided to live life as a muggle."

"I'm not living as a muggle."

"You're not living as a pure-blood."

"Keep your voice down." He surveyed their surroundings to see if they had captured the attention of any customers, but they were all watching the game. He turned back to Theo, "what are you doing in a muggle bar, anyway?"

"Your girlfriend gate crashed your parent's party. I know you come to the nearest bar so here I am. Been waiting a while, too. Big argument?"

"There wasn't an argument," he lied.

"You're not a bit mad that she impersonated you, mate?"

"How can I be? I'll never be good enough for her."

"That's sad."

He was not in the mood for insults or harsh truths. He dug out the small amount of muggle money he carried and dropped it on the counter by his empty glass. "I should go."

"Wait!" Theo turned toward him, his voice suddenly serious. "Listen mate, you are good enough for her."

"I was a Death Eater -"

"You were human and by the end of it you were trying to save your family. You've cut yourself off from them now and living among the people you hated. I have to wonder if you are punishing yourself."

"She is not a punishment."

"But she's not your redemption either. It's time to come home. Even she knows that. That's why she was there."

"They hate her - "

He shrugged, "let them. Granger can handle it. After all, she's forgiven you."

Draco then remembered why Theo was his closest friend and it gave him that ache for home. He clapped him on the shoulder and then he left to return home to Hermione. When she woke, he would tell her he was visiting his family that weekend.

Theo was right, it was time to return home.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Draco Malfoy crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, balancing it precariously on two legs - an act that caused his parents great grief. It was not something that 16-year-old Draco would dare do, but 25-year-old Draco? Absolutely.

Mere hours ago Hermione asked to come with him for moral support as he told his parents the news. He was then glad that he insisted she had that lunch with Ginny instead, because it became a nightmare.

"Think about what you are considering," his father pleaded, his aged hands flat on the table between them. Draco witnessed that position more than once, normally done in front of Voldemort in a false affront that he was brave. "She's a mud -"

"Don't," Draco snapped, the word sending a fire of anger through him. It was a word that he used often in his youth, but since the war when everything was being questioned and since Hermione, he could not bear to hear it, to be reminded of his past, the mark on his arm. That one word was wrapped up in a thousand horrifying memories.

Lucius squared his shoulders, a real sign of bravery. "You may be grown, Draco, but I am still your father and I demand respect."

Draco's mother placed a comforting hand over her husband's. "Please, Draco, all we are asking is for you to think this through... She is a muggle-born. She will never be like you, never fully understand our ways."

"That is not true."

"That is enough!" His father slammed his palm down. "I tire of this insolence. You are not to speak to your mother that way."

"What I will do is marry Hermione. Nothing you can say will change my mind."

"Why her," begged Narcissa helplessly.

"I can sit here forever telling you why."

"Whatever happened to Ms. Parkinson? She was a lovely girl."

"What you mean is that she was a pure-blood." He stood, his mother's face heartbreaking. "I don't want to live my life in hatred. I am going to make Hermione a Malfoy."

Lucius stood, too. "We have supported these new friendships of yours with the... Weasley's..." He said the surname of the red-headed family with effort and disdain. "We have supported your new life, but we will not support this. If you go through with this, Draco, you will not receive an inheritance. You _will_ be cut from this family."

A sharp pain went through Draco, but he thought of little Teddy. He had no idea he had a cousin named Nympadora until he was much older. He had only met her son when he first had dinner at the Weasley's.

Teddy was happy and by the sound of it, Nymphadora and her mother were quite happy, too. Being cut from the family hadn't stopped them living their lives. They gave them for the ones they loved, for the world. If only he could be as brave, as selfless.

He wasn't, though. Anger and resentment swelled up inside of him. He found himself spitting out the words he knew would cause the most pain.

"Then you'll never see your grandson."

Draco enjoyed their dismayed expressions before he left.

* * *

"You said what?!" Hermione put down the boring book that she was reading, the ultimate sign that her attention had been captivated. He wished it hadn't, she had been quite lovely curled into the corner of the sofa, her wet hair pulled up, the neckline of her gown wet. He loved the way her skin flushed after a shower.

Draco flung himself on the sofa, propping up his tired feet on the coffee table. "It... Came out. It's not so bad, love. Who cares what they think?"

"Draco, those were all lies! We're not getting married and I'm not pregnant."

"Telling them we're together didn't go well," he said.

"Oh, so you thought telling them we were getting married would make it better?"

He took her hand, running his thumb over hers. "We could get married... We could have a kid - let's get started now," he shrugged, leaning forward only to be stopped by Hermione's hand against his chest.

"Have you lost your mind?" She groaned. "I knew I should have gone with you! Draco, you have to tell them the truth. Neither of us even wants children."

"They'll do everything possible to make me give you up."

She heaved out a sigh, releasing her curled legs and resting her head on his shoulder. "Your parents love you; they want what's best for you."

"You are what is best for me."

"You can't expect them to know that - not everyone changes - is capable of change."

"I changed."

Hermione visibly relaxed, gave him that sympathetic head tilt and then kissed his cheek. "You have," she agreed, before turning her face down; he caught sight of tears, they shined in the white lights strung on her bookshelf. He didn't like them, they reminded him of lifeless fairies.

He kissed the part in her wild brown hair, his heart hurting for her. "It's us," he whispered. "You and me against the world. You're my family now."

"Be that as it may, this can't go on. You must tell them."

Draco didn't want to give in so easily. After all the fuss that his family gave him he was determined to let them sweat it out. "Do you want to go to bed," he asked her.

"One more chapter..." She picked up her ratty old book.

Lovingly he gazed at her, assessing the tiredness in her eyes. He assumed that finishing one more chapter was only part of why she didn't want to go to bed; that she wanted to compose herself. A lot had happened in the last couple of months. There wasn't a moment of regret, though. He would do it all over again. He would give up his inheritance - give up everything, to live his life with her.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

Slowly, Hermione sipped her tea, the loudest of silence pressing in. It was perhaps the most awkward situation she had ever been in.

In her brightly lit kitchen Narcissa Malfoy sat across from her, her fingertips gently upon the saucer. She hadn't touched the tea and while Hermione was only slightly offended she was much more concerned for what was about to happen when Draco walked in.

"He should be here soon," Hermione said softly, hope edging her tone.

Mrs. Malfoy nodded once, sharply. "I'm sure," she responded, and then as an after-thought, "thank you for the tea."

Hermione bristled, but didn't speak. Each second felt like a minute and she tried to keep her thoughts from traveling back to that night on the Manor floor. Mrs. Malfoy had been there, looking on. Now there she was sitting across from her, _not_ drinking the tea she had accepted.

It was something that Hermione would never admit to Draco, but she was starting to feel an inkling of an urge to lie to her - to give credence to Draco's falsehoods. Instead, Hermione stopped herself. The truth would be better for both of their families. She only hoped that it wouldn't end with Draco losing his.

"I would like to apologize for what happened - "

"You mean for posing as my son at my party?"

Hermione ceased breathing for a moment. "Yes, that."

Luckily, that was when Draco walked in, a bag of groceries in one hand. He stopped in his tracks when he saw his mother, his lips parting in surprise. "Mother, why are you here?"

"I thought I'd talk with you about your decision."

He strolled into the kitchen, dropping the bag on the counter. "I don't believe there's anything to talk about."

"I'll let the two of you discuss," Hermione said, readying to stand when Draco motioned for her to sit back down.

"Stay," he told her. "If she insists on talking about this, then you have a right to hear."

The corner of Mrs. Malfoy's mouth twitched unhappily and Hermione felt sympathetic because all she wanted to do was leave. Draco crossed his arms over his chest, staring down at his mother with an anger she didn't know he was capable of and so she sat watching on.

"Fine," Mrs. Malfoy resigned, "you're my son, and while I do not approve of your relationship with Ms. Granger here, I don't want to lose you. I would like to meet her family."

Hermione gaped, "that would be... nice." She looked to Draco for his impression, but he kept his cool exterior.

"Mother, Hermione isn't pregnant."

Mrs. Malfoy made a motion resembling a bird ruffling their feathers. "Well, that was a horrible lie, Ms. Granger."

"It was my lie, mother," Draco snapped, "Hermione had nothing to do with it. I wanted you to see the impact of your decision. If you don't accept her, you don't accept me."

Hermione hadn't seen Mrs. Malfoy often in her life, but in those handful of times, she had never seen her look so angry. She bet that she could give Mrs. Weasley a run for her money.

"You know how I feel about lying, Draco. But, I can see how important this is to you. My offer still stands."

"Do you mean that?"

"I can't force your father to attend, but I would like to host it."

"No," Draco said, shaking his head, "if this is going to happen, it'll be at our place. A neutral ground."

Mrs. Malfoy bristled, but nodded shortly. "That's acceptable." She took her purse from the counter and pulled it over her shoulder. "I will be here this weekend."

Hermione panicked. "This weekend?"

"Yes. I'm looking forward to it." It sounded like a lie, but before Hermione could read more into it, Mrs. Malfoy walked to the fireplace, disappearing in a green blaze.

Hermione turned to Draco. "This should be interesting..."

He tugged her to him, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Together, we'll get through it. It's only one dinner."

Suddenly, the fireplace burst to life again and Lucius Malfoy strolled out, not a speck of dust or ash on his carefully pressed robes. She tried not to think who exactly pressed them as his eyes raked his surroundings, to the white molding to the woodblock and at last landed on his son.

"So this is where you live."

Draco puffed himself up, but didn't release her. "It's improper to visit sons uninvited."

"Are you lecturing me about what is proper, Draco? I surely didn't raise you to live like this."

Hermione's cheeks burned red. Not only was Mr. Malfoy in her house, but he was insulting it! With her mouth agape, she stepped forward, leaving Draco's embrace. "I must ask that you leave."

"You, Ms. Granger, should show appreciation - after all, I have kindly chosen not to inform the ministry of your actions at my manor. You have me to thank for your reputation and career."

The burn spread to the rest of Hermione's face. "Are you threatening me?"

"Don't think of it as a threat but merely a reminder of gratitude."

Before she could tell off his father, Draco intervened. "If you harm her in any way, some of your secrets might come slithering out, too, father. Don't think of it as a threat but as a reminder that I'm no longer afraid of you."

It only lasted a heartbeat, but a flash of pain, like a shadow had revealed itself. "Is that so? Do you no longer respect me?"

"I live on a muggle street for a reason. It's because I don't want to be like you."

That was it. The final nail in the coffin. Mr. Malfoy fingered the silver snake of his cane. "If this is what you want, you shall have it." He turned and disappeared into the fireplace.

Draco didn't seem aware of it, but his hands were shaking. Hermione took one, clasping it tightly. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

He didn't look at her. "Why are you sorry?"

"I know that wasn't easy."

"He made it easy." He tore his gaze from the hearth to her.

"He's your father and this matters."

He returned her to her former position to his arms. "At least I have you."

"It's okay to love them, Draco. For better or worse, they're your parents. It's okay to choose a different path but love them still. You don't have to push them away."

"They'll never approve."

"They don't have to." She raised herself on her toes and gently kissed his lips.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Draco did try to help Hermione cook, but he was quickly shoo'ed from the kitchen. Instead of helping he periodically checked in on her. It was sweltering hot, sweat beaded on her forehead and something smelled as though it was burning. She waved her wand and spices would fly, a spoon would begin stirring, but for the most part, she was cooking the muggle way.

"We could order in," he offered.

Hermione spun on him, a wild twitch under her left eye. He took a step back.

"This is going to be lovely," she snarled, holding a spatula like a weapon. "I promise you, Malfoy, this will be a nice meal."

He doubted that. Since his waking hours he had been formulating excuses to get them out of dinner with their parents. It wouldn't have mattered, Hermione would never agree, but it comforted him. She seemed bent on having the perfect meeting and it could only be good for him to leave.

Stealthy, Draco left the house and traveled to his favorite pub, but found it closed. By no means did he want to go home until Hermione had put herself together to face the unavoidable. So, he had no choice, he fumbled about in his pockets, taking out the odd small device and trying to remember how to work it.

Eventually, he found Potter's name and dialed.

"Hello?" Some laughter could be heard in the background, which unfortunately meant he was at the Weasley's.

"It's Malfoy," he answered.

Potter paused. "Is Hermione okay?"

"Oh. Yes, of course, Hermione is fine. She's cooking."

"Really?" Potter laughed, but Draco didn't know why. It was probably a memory from their childhood. It bristled him, to be honest. There was a lot of history between all of them that Draco would never be apart of. He would always be on the outside, the other.

"Yeah... Our parents are meeting. I think she's destroying our kitchen."

"Big step."

"A homicidal one, yes. I was thinking... You know... If you weren't..." Draco inwardly cursed and started to doubt himself. Was he so desperate that he was calling on Harry bloody Potter to come and rescue him?

He was.

"I have to get out of the house and the pub is closed and..." He couldn't finish the sentence, that he only had one friend and he was holed up in the Department of Mysteries.

"I'll meet you at my office."

"Your office? Hello? Potter?" Draco peered at the screen, his eyes squinting against the glare the light was causing. He had hung up on him!

Draco walked behind the pub, checked around him, and disapparated to the nearest place he knew. He apparated on the doorstep of Theo's home. It was a three story stone house set on a large portion of well-maintained land. Draco was reminded of the hours of fun they had on their brooms flying about on the estate. Of course, the Malfoy's owned more land, but when his parents were busy he was left at the Nott's to hold broom races.

He let himself into the familiar household. Nothing had changed. With all the dark memories that had seeped into his family home, he had more of a fondness for Theo's. It was in some ways, more of a home than his had been.

In the expansive lounge room was an ornate fireplace. In the vase next to it was the Floo Powder, to which he helped himself to. There wasn't a way that he was going to use the visitors entrance to the Ministry. Thank goodness that Theo worked in the Department of Mysteries. He hoped that he wouldn't be seen, Theo would murder him.

He stepped inside and soon appeared in the Ministry. There was the usual bustle and luckily, no one paid him any mind. He got into the lift and went up to the level reserved for Aurors, and right in the middle of the hallway was his office. On his door in shiny block lettering was Potter's name.

Draco found that bothersome. It was hard, even as an adult not to hate him. When they were children he hated him for refusing his friendship, for hanging out with the Weasley's, for being the center of attention. As an adult, he hated him for being so close with Hermione. He knew how immature it was, but he couldn't help it. There were experiences between them that he would never be privy to.

Potter opened the door. "There you are," he said, welcoming him in.

The office was spacious, the desk held two piles of papers each a meter high and between them crumpled papers and a near-empty inkwell. He took note of the dark bags under Potter's eyes, his hair messier than usual.

"You should clean your desk."

Potter took a seat in front of his desk, rubbing his face. "You wanted out of the house, Malfoy."

"I must be out of my mind." Draco resisted the urge to take the seat behind the desk and instead sat in the one next to him. "Hermione is being impossible."

"So I heard. Ginny went along to help her."

If that was true, it was going to be even longer before Draco felt brave enough to return home. The Weaslette was snarky toward him, but if he was to be fair, she was preferable to her brothers who made hateful comments at him at regular intervals. Weaslette seemed to at least try to be kind to him for Hermione's sake. Potter seemed to take the same attitude.

"Whose idea was this dinner?"

"My mother's."

"That's a start," Potter yawned, thoroughly disinterested.

Draco slouched in his seat, taking a sideways glance at the man next to him. "You need a vacation."

"No time," he yawned once more.

"You're going to fall over then what good will you be to the Ministry?"

"I'm sure I'll do a Professor Binns and show up to work as usual."

Draco guffawed. "Have someone take over for you, you can do that."

He shook his head, "most of it's classified. I'm the only one that can -" he yawned - "see it."

"I shouldn't be in here then, should I?"

Potter managed to fight another yawn to give him a small smile. "Hermione is scarier than the Minister. This is available to you for now to hide away in."

"Thanks," he said painfully, then he decided to be honest. "I'm not hiding from Hermione so much as I'm hiding from our parents."

Potter nodded slowly, his eyes half-way closed. "Why?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at him. "You really have to ask?"

The corners of his mouth turned upward. "Okay, okay, sorry. You know, you're looking at this the wrong way." He sat up, and stared at him blearily. "This means a lot to Hermione. She's has fought for inter-departmental communication and understanding between species and people. This is what she does. You surely didn't expect otherwise?"

"This is about the most dangerous thing we have ever done."

Potter laughed, "if you exclude almost killing each other in the war, you're right, but you've survived so far. Do it to make her happy."

"I'd do anything to make her happy."

"Then show up, make her happy, and let me sleep in my office for five minutes before I have to go home."

Draco stood, staring down at his old enemy. "Thanks, Potter."

He only nodded and Draco saw himself out.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Just as Draco exited the fireplace, two hands clawed his shoulders, hitting his arms. It took him a bewildered moment to realize that it was Hermione was literally beating the dust out of his clothes.

"I'm fine," he groaned.

"Where have you been," she squealed.

"I was visiting Potter."

She stopped what she was doing. "Harry? Why were you visiting Harry?"

"The pub was closed."

Hermione shook her head, not bothering to ask exactly when Potter had become a replacement for a pub. "It doesn't matter now. My parents are in the kitchen and your parents should be here any time now." She moved him out of the way of the fireplace, peering in as if to make sure it was working.

"It's just dinner."

She took a deep breath. "You're right," she said, "I should be calmer about this."

"You're smart enough to know that this could end terribly."

She took his wrist and led him into the kitchen where her parents sat at the table. Draco noticed that the table had gotten a bit longer at the ends. No doubt that Hermione had been working her magic on more than the meal.

"Draco," her mother greeted happily, "it's good to see you again."

Mr. Granger forced a smile, something his wife made him do, he guessed. Nevertheless, he nodded at Draco in way of a greeting.

Hermione rubbed her hands nervously. He took a good look at her then and while she still had that wild look in her eyes she had made an effort in her appearance. She wore a blue checkered dress and her hair was smoothed back into a bun. It was a small thing, but it made her look very different and Draco didn't know how to feel. As beautiful as she always was, he preferred her hair bushy and unmanageable.

There was a whoosh and an undertone of voices, one that was clearly his father's. Hermione rushed out to greet them and Draco tried to prepare himself.

"Trouble," Mr. Granger asked.

He couldn't tell if that was a genuine question or if he was mocking him. "No," he lied.

The Granger's stood to meet the Malfoy's, their hands outstretched. His mother hesitated, but ultimately shook their hands. His father refused, not daring to look at his son.

Draco gritted his teeth, but did not say a word for Hermione's sake. It was only the beginning and he was sure things were going to become much worse.

"Let's sit and eat."

Draco took his place beside Hermione. For two long minutes, they were engulfed in silence. Even as they shuffled plates about, each taking a small portion of food, they did not utter a sound.

Mrs. Granger was the first to break the silence. "So, what is it that you two do?"

His mother politely answered, but the tone clearly suggested that the Granger's wouldn't understand. "My family runs a chain of apothecaries. My husband comes from old money."

Not polite enough to ask what the Granger's did for a living, they fell once more into an uncomfortable silence. Poor Mrs. Granger, tried yet again to bridge the gap.

"Hermione, you haven't told us how you and Draco reconnected."

Hermione gave Draco a startled glance, but a meaningful one. "I met him at the Ministry."

His father gave him an inquisitive stare and Draco mentally pleaded that he wouldn't tell the exact circumstances. Obviously, it was something that Hermione didn't want to be known and he shared those reservations. Unfortunately, Mrs. Granger pressed.

"Oh, does he work at the Ministry?"

"Um, no."

His father lightly coughed. Draco shook his head, as if his father would see and not say what Draco knew he was going to say.

"I think what our children are avoiding telling you, Mrs. Granger, is that they met while my wife and I were on trial. Is that true, Draco? You didn't tell them?"

He met the steady gaze of his father. Draco knew that nothing was going to stop the horrible truth from coming out. Right then he decided that if the Granger's were going to know the truth then he was the one that was going to tell it. Draco faced her parents and forced the words from his mouth.

"During the war, my house was the base for Lord Voldemort and Death Eaters. Hermione unfortunately was captured... And was tortured for information by my aunt."

Her mother cupped her mouth, a small cry emitting. Tears shone in the corners of her eyes. Her father, on the other hand, took a deep breath his eyes blazing with a dark fire that came with a maddened father.

Draco looked away from her parents and straight at Hermione, her lips parted with shock. "I stood and watched," he continued, "I didn't do anything. I have never regretted anything more." In turn, he returned to face his parents. "None of you have to approve of me or her. I'm going to marry her anyway."

Hermione said not a word; he wasn't even sure if she was breathing. The kitchen became unbearably silent once more. Beneath the table, Hermione's fingers curled around his hand and it was her that spoke up.

"I forgive him."

The corner of his father's lip twitched. "It's that easy?"

She shook her head, an act that caused Draco's heart to plummet. "It wasn't before, but it is now. He's right, you don't have to approve."

"We don't," his father said, his cold gaze meeting his son's. "But... We will accept it. We'll accept this new life but I must warn you that this is not something you can come back from."

Draco's inside froze. His father was giving in too easily; something wasn't right. He could only nod and wait until the truth revealed itself. Knowing his father, he wouldn't leave there without giving a hint.

The remainder of the dinner was long and excruciating. That wasn't to say that anything bad truly happened, but the awkwardness of knives and forks scrapping on plates was giving him a migraine.

His parents were the first to leave, but before they left to the fireplace, his father gave him a rare hug. Draco's hands stayed at his sides as he realized that the hug was a pretense.

"If you do not break off this relationship, I will see that Ms. Granger is prosecuted for identity fraud." He straightened and grinned down at his only child.

Then they left. He returned to Hermione and her parents, where she was laughing at something that her father had said. Her smile could light a hundred galaxies. When they had departed, as well, Hermione was beaming.

"That went well, didn't it?"

Draco didn't answer, but offered a smile. Hermione saw right through him.

"What happened," she asked, touching his arm.

"I'll clean the kitchen and tell you later." She didn't move. "Please, Hermione, I need to think..."

She was hesitant, but left him to it. While she took a bath, he went into the kitchen. The food was hardly touched, which was a shame, because it was perhaps the best meal that Hermione ever made. With a few waves of his wand, the leftover food was being put into containers and the dishes were being washed. That hadn't taken nearly as long as he hoped for. Soon, he found himself sitting on the couch, staring at the very place where his father gave him the ultimatum.

Hermione or her career.

Hermione or her freedom.

If only his father had threatened him instead. He would have taken the fall for Hermione without sparing a thought. He thought rapidly, to find a way out, to spare his relationship and her career. However, his father was pardoned by all wrongdoing by fucking Harry Potter. Did that scar-headed man get anything right?

He wanted nothing more than to stay with Hermione. She could find another career and he could live without his inheritance. He would get a job, too. They would be poor but together.

Even as Draco lived in that daydream, he knew he could never go through with it. Hermione loved her career; she was doing good in the world. If he allowed that to be taken from her, then she would only resent him. No matter what he did, he would lose her in the end. Perhaps that was the justice of the universe: That he would fall madly in love with the most brilliant witch only to be forced to leave her. It was in no short what he deserved.

"Draco..."

Hermione stood in front of him, a white towel wrapped around her body. She was gathering her dripping hair over her shoulder, wafting the scent of her coconut shampoo over him. It took his breath away and almost - almost, made him forget his troubles. "Yes, love?"

"Tell me, what happened? I saw your father whisper to you. What did he say?"

She truly was a bright witch, the smartest person he had ever known (and that statement included himself). If anyone could figure out a way, it was her.

"We need to talk."

She frowned as she sat next to him. "Draco, what is it?"

"My dear father is blackmailing me."

Her frowned deepened, crinkles appearing between her eyes. "Oh," she breathed.

"He'll turn you in if I don't stop seeing you."

"This is a problem..." She chewed the inside of her lip. He swore that he could hear the gears in her brain working rapidly as she twirled a loose strand of her towel between her fingers. He stole her hand away, linking those fingers with his own.

"I'm so sorry about this. I knew that this supper was a bad idea and I should have insisted that we not have it."

"I wasn't aware I gave you a choice. I made this dinner happen and I will be the one to fix it."

"This is not your responsibility. I will leave you, if I must, but... If you have any ideas, I welcome them."

She then smiled, one that frightened him. "Don't worry your head about it, I have just the thing."


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

Despite Draco's imploring gaze, Hermione wouldn't tell him what she was going to do. She prided herself on being a good person, on rising above other people. However, there were moments that it was unavoidable, as was the time she put a particularly nasty journalist in a jar.

It was too bad that she couldn't put Draco's father in a jar for a few months. It would only make things worse in the long run. No, Hermione had to come up with a new plan, one that didn't involve bullying. First, she was going to talk to him, but if Mr. Malfoy didn't see reason, she was afraid she'd have to blackmail him right back. It was uncomfortable, but she wasn't given much of a choice.

The wrought iron gate opened up for her, and she approached the Manor. It loomed over her menacingly, reminding her that drawing room. She diverted her thoughts to the situation at hand. At the Malfoy's doorstep, she held her breath and slammed the snake knocker hard onto the metal surface. She could hear the multiple echoes, as if it had been sounded in every room.

The door opened as freely as the gates had done, and she stepped inside. Beside the roaring fireplace, Mr. Malfoy sat in a brown Chesterfield chair, the Daily Prophet opened. Without looking up, he folded it and laid it beside him.

"Ms. Granger," he greeted coolly, "I was wondering if I would see you." He regarded her curiously, taking in her jeans and t-shirt. He sat there, in his black robes, his blond hair pulled back with a ribbon. They must have looked from two different eras, two different worlds.

Hermione was aware of what she chose to wore that day. While robes were infinitely more comfortable, she was used to her muggle attire. She also knew that it would displease him.

"You were expecting me," she asked.

He smiled, "I admit I was curious if Draco would tell you about our discussion. He must truly care for you if he told you the truth."

She gaped for a moment, before collecting herself. "A threat is hardly a discussion. Are you trying to tell me that was a test?"

Mr. Malfoy waved his hand toward a duplicate chair opposite of him, which she accepted. She rubbed her arms, warming them against the chill. Despite the fire, the room was not near warm enough and Mr. Malfoy's cold disposition certainly didn't help matters.

"I may not be an ideal father, but Ms. Granger, I would never stand in the way of my son's happiness. I don't approve of your relationship with him, but I'm far from blackmailing him."

"And it wouldn't hurt if Draco had chosen his family over me."

A slow, pale smile emerged. "He's my only son."

She gripped the arms of the chair. She didn't truly think that she was in danger, but being in the Malfoy Manor while being in the company of an abnormally calm Death Eater unnerved her. She tried not to let her fear show, she had to gain the upper hand. Her future with Draco depended on it.

She kept her voice even, "tell me now, Mr. Malfoy, is this what I can expect? Your interference?"

"Not in the least. I will stand aside. As easy as it would be to blame you or to say that my son is using you to make amends, I know the truth. I lost my son at the end of the war. I put him in danger and I am the only one to blame. But an old man can't learn knew tricks. I don't like you, Ms. Granger. You are and always will be a mudblood and never good enough for my son."

"I appreciate your honesty. Now, if I may, I'd like to give you some honesty in return. Draco may need you in his life, but he doesn't need your approval to live it. If you try to interfere again, just remember, sir, that I am a lawyer and my friend is an Auror. We can make your life very difficult. Don't ever think of threatening us again." She stood up, her chin high, determined to retain her dignity. "I'll let myself out." Without waiting for an answer, she shut the mansion door.

Just like that, she felt a lot lighter than she had before. In fact, she felt powerful.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Hermione walked through the front door, a gust of cotton scented warmth enveloping her. She was greeted with the sight of a supine Draco on the couch, a book propped up on his knees. His light eyes peered over at her, and although the top of his head was the only part of him that she could see, it was apparent how concerned he was.

"It's going to be okay," she promised him.

Placing his book on the coffee table, he slid up, his legs wide for her to sit between. "How bad was it," he asked.

She sat between his thighs, her back against his chest. "It went well," she told him honestly, "I had a good talk with your father and I don't think he'll be making idle threats any time soon." She tried not to sound too joyous over it, but Draco was not fooled.

"You were placed in the wrong House, love. You are a Slytherin through and through."

She wrinkled her nose at that thought. "I'm afraid not."

"Perhaps not. You were bold enough to walk into the snake's den." The way he said the word, 'bold' made it sound like a synonym for 'stupid.' She firmly decided to ignore that and it was easy as his fingers trailed up her arms, over her shoulders and into her hair.

She relaxed in his embrace, leaning up to place a kiss at the base of his throat. She could feel his heart against her back picking up pace. "You like that."

"But 'idle threats,' Hermione? He could have ended your career."

She shrugged. "Maybe, we don't know that for sure. We both have a certain reputation..."

"And he has powerful friends."

"So do I."

"I don't want this to be another war."

Sighing, she rolled her eyes. Sometimes, she would forget how melodramatic Draco could be. "Honestly, I hardly think that this would have turned into a war."

"You don't know my father."

She pushed herself up, turning around to face him. "I know that he cares for you and that's enough for me. If anything happens, all that it will take is a call to Mr. Weasley and he'll conduct a search of the house for dark objects. You can tell them exactly where they are. This time, he won't be let off. But I don't want that, Draco, not for you. I promise you, you have nothing to worry about. It's taken care of. Trust me."

"I do!" Gently, Draco held her face. "I worry for you. I've been thinking that we took this too far - trying to get our families to accept us. They never will. I will always be the coward that watched you bleed."

"And I will always be the dirty mudblood."

"Never to me."

She lowered his hands and met his forehead with her own. "That's it, then, isn't it? We don't need anyone to accept us. I love you and that's enough."

"You must, to deal with my family." He ran his thumb over her wrist, pausing over her pulse point. "I don't want to wait anymore."

"Wait for what?"

"For our lives to begin. I want to marry you. Now."

She let out a nervous laugh, sitting back on her heels "you can't possibly be serious," her brows shot up, "you are! Draco, you're crazy -"

"Why? Why is this crazy?"

"We just moved in! We haven't even dated for a year!"

"So what? Do you remember what we were like in Hogwarts? If we can go from that to this, there isn't anything we can't do. We can do this - I want this - you. Don't you?"

There wasn't doubt in her mind that she did. For the first time in years, she was happy - truly happy. So in the softest way, she smiled, the corners of her eyes shining. "Yes." She kissed him hard, keeping her balance with his shoulders and him with her hips.

It was what she wanted - he was what she wanted, and she thought that she waited long enough to begin her life.

* * *

A/N: That's it for this story! I'm sorry that the posting took so long, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Much love to all of you!


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